


Hurtling Toward Heaven

by Rehfan



Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - Ian Fleming, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear of Flying, Fear of Rejection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, French Kissing, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 27,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has a fear of flying.</p><p>But he has Bond to lean on.</p><p>(From a Tumblr prompt suggested by cractasticdispatches)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Settling In

Q sighed as he took his seat on the flight. Traveling anywhere was an inconvenience. Traveling with Bond would be tedious. Traveling with Bond and by aeroplane was downright terrifying.

There was something unnatural about air travel. If humans were meant to leave the ground, they would have evolved wings. Or at least been descended from avian creatures instead of chimps.

He fidgeted in his seat. It was too close in here. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. It was a bit better, but it didn't really help. It was just so... tiny in here.

The flight attendants passed by doing their final checks and Q found himself praying for a mechanical difficulty that would prevent the flight from taking off at all. It's not like they needed him there. But of course, M had other ideas: "Better if you go, Quartermaster. You're our resident genius. After all, if Mohammad can't go to the mountain..."

Q could have punched him. It's true, he was salivating at getting a hold of that kind of a computer chip, but honestly... Did he really have to be there himself? Couldn't have Moneypenny been sent with Bond? Or perhaps just Bond? Q fiddled with the buckle on his safety belt and sighed. He gripped the armrests tightly, flexing his fingers until his knuckles whitened.

"Nervous?" asked the agent sitting next to him.

Q gave him an annoyed stare. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

Bond put his hand on Q's and said, "Just noticing that you're trying to rip the arms off of your chair is all." The blue eyes of the agent met his. James leaned in and said softly but firmly, "Breathe, Q."


	2. Preparing Doors

"Breathe, Q," said Bond.

Q looked into Bond's eyes. He could understand now why M trusted him and why the M before him had trusted him. He had confidence. He was in control. Q took a deep breath as instructed. James gave him a firm-lipped smile and leaned back in his seat to watch the instructional video.

Idly, Q wondered why he wasted his time. James Bond had traveled the world. He must have seen these videos hundreds of times. Why was he bothering now? It made no sense.

Q shook his head and realized that a whole thirty seconds had gone by and he hadn't been thinking about dying in a fiery mess of twisted metal. So that was good. Also, there was something strange going on. Even though James had helped him a full minute ago, Bond continued to hold his hand.

What the hell is he doing that for? Q found it strange, but comforting. He flicked a look to James who was still watching the tedious instructions. What are you up to, Bond?

What was even more strange is that Q felt no real urgency to remove his hand from Bond's soft grip. As he noticed, it was comforting, but it was also a bit hurtful to his pride. He was a grown man. He shouldn't need to be coddled through a flight like a child.

Perhaps that's how Bond saw him: as a child. Well he wasn't one. And if that's what Commander James Bond thought of him, well he could jolly well piss off. Q moved his hand from under Bond's just as the plane began to move. Quickly Q gripped Bond's hand again.

Q felt his face flush crimson at his weakness. He didn't even want to look at Bond. The agent was probably smirking at him. Tosser.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and he chanced a glance. Bond was staring straight ahead with the most bored expression on his face. No anxiety. No jocularity. Nothing. He was just bored.

How did he do that? How could he remain calm when everyone's lives were in mortal peril? Didn't he realize that they could all die horribly? Did he realize that the insides of the aircraft resembled an over-sized coffin? Wasn't he noticing all the sickly-sweet smiles of the flight attendants; how they seemed like false faces? As if they knew that every single person aboard was going to perish in unspeakable pain?

"Breathe, Q" said James. His voice was so close to his ear that he felt the man's breath.

Q looked at James' calm expression and took in a lung full of air. Once he exhaled, Bond said again: "Breathe, Q. Once more."


	3. Take Off

Q gulped some more air into his lungs. Instantly his head cleared. He smiled weakly at Bond. This was awful. He hated flying. Why in hell was he here? Oh... that's right: orders.

Q sighed again as the plane taxied for take-off. The captain came over the speaker and said: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we welcome you aboard Flight 2001 to Abu Dhabi with continuing service to Hong Kong. We are currently third in line for take-off and will be departing as scheduled. Flight time to Abu Dhabi is approximately 7 hours. We expect no delays and we wish you a pleasant flight."

"I just realized something," said Q.

"What's that?" asked Bond.

"The flight numbers are the same as the year of the Twin Towers crash in America," said Q, swallowing hard on a dry throat. "What sick bastard decided that that was a good idea?"

"Probably the same sick bastard that mapped for us to land in Abu Dhabi before getting to Hong Kong," replied Bond. He was thinking of the political implications, of course. Travel between two regions of the world that happen to have vested interests in the downfall of western civilization and democracy was a potential breeding ground for conspiracy and mayhem.

Q was thinking of how much better it would be if there were soft things below them as they flew along, like pillow factories, or mattress factories, or pillow-top mattress factories. That would be better. A factory say, every six kilometers or so. All of them filled with nice soft gentle things. That would be wonderful.

Q gripped Bond's hand tighter when he heard the engines cycle up. It was still odd to be holding the hand of a trained killer working for Her Majesty's Government, but it was the only comfort he had that was real. Dreams of mattress factories were much too far-fetched, pleasant though they were.

They were on the runway and Q could taste bile as the plane engines whined louder and louder.

Bond was in his ear again, "Breathe, Q."

Q couldn't. This was it. This was the moment of take-off. There was no going back. He couldn't go back. Q wanted to shout. He wanted to stand up and claw his way past Bond and out the nearest doorway. He needed to get out. Now. Right now. All the breathing in the world wouldn't help this cloying fear. He couldn't breathe anyway. There was an elephant on his chest. He couldn't move. This was it. This was it. This was it.

James Bond grabbed Q by the face with one hand and kissed him firmly on the mouth.


	4. Ascent

The kiss was chaste, but bruising, intended to shock but not be overtly sexual. This was Bond being the agent he was trained to be. It was the fastest route to getting the desired result; in this case, a calm and passive Quartermaster.

As for Q, he was a jangle of emotions trapped in a small box. The kiss held the lid down. His free hand touched Bond's hand on his face. His skin was so warm. Q's hands were always cold. He never understood why. He was glad James hands were warm. It helped.

Bond broke the kiss gently and looked at Q concerned. "Alright?" he asked.

Everything was fuzzy. Q nodded absently. They still held hands, but he wanted another kiss. He let his glance drift down to James' lips. Bond smirked, but his eyes remained gentle. "Maybe another time, Q," said James, "When I can afford to concentrate more." Bond sat back in his chair and smiled gently at Q. "You should be alright now. The flight will be over soon enough. We'll be on the ground before you know it."

Yes, of course they would. It would all be alright. James was here with him and he would be just fine. And if it weren't for the captain coming across the speakers again, Q could have rested almost comfortably.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have attained our cruising altitude of thirty-six thousand feet and we have turned off the seat belt signs and you are now free to move about the cabin. We do ask, however that while you are seated that you remain with your seat belts fastened. Thank you for your cooperation and we thank you for flying with us today."

Q looked out the window to his left. White fluffy clouds were ruddy with the light from the setting sun behind them. Soon it would be dark and the only think that he would be able to see would be the inky blackness of a gigantic void. Thirty-six thousand feet below them spun the world. Thirty-six thousand feet would be swallowed up in minutes if they nosedived. Q began to calculate how many minutes that would be exactly.

"Breathe, Q," said Bond.

This time, Q didn't hesitate. He kissed James on the mouth with every ounce of anxiety he possessed. He gripped the back of the agent's head, controlling what amounted to a life line for him. When he was kissing James, the aeroplane and all its stressors went away. It was like a miracle cure, an elixir.

Eventually Q released James and closed his eyes. He behaved as an addict would who just had his first hit in weeks. Q relaxed against his seat, enjoying the sense of peace and warmth. He could still feel 007's stubble on his mouth. It was brilliant.

"Or you can kiss me," he heard Bond say. But James was far away now. All that existed was the sensation of the kiss -- until the next disturbing thing came along.

Three hours later, it came alright: turbulence.


	5. Turbulence

Q was dreaming of something to do with pillows becoming clouds when he was jostled awake. Bond was already looking at him, concerned. The seat belt sign lit back up and the captain came on the speaker once more. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are turning on the seat belt sign and we would ask that you kindly take your seats for the duration of this part of the flight. We have adjusted our altitude to compensate, so we should escape the worst of the turbulence, but we do expect some bumps for the next few minutes. So once again: please return to your seats, fasten your seat belts, and we'll get you through this as quickly and safely as we can."

"Oh God," said Q.

"Q. Relax," said Bond. Q gave him a look as if to say: are you completely off your nut? "I know, I know," said Bond, "but panicking now will solve nothing." The plane shook violently. The trays in the kitchen area rattled together so loudly that Q thought that something in the fuselage had broken loose.

"We're going to die," said Q, "and you want me to relax? Are you mad?"

"Not mad," said Bond calmly, "just sensible."

"I'm getting you a psych evaluation once we get back," said Q. The plane rocked again and dipped suddenly. "Provided we don't fucking die first!" yelled Q. Bond grabbed Q by the upper arms and held him steady in his seat.

The older woman sitting in front of them looked between the seats back at Q. Bond smiled at her as she caught his eye and she smiled back and turned away. Bond turned to Q who was clearly losing his mind and kissed him forcibly. The effect of this technique, which had proven successful for calming Q, failed spectacularly when the plane shuddered again. Q broke the kiss and looked at Bond with helpless terror. Somewhere inside Bond's well-trained mind something softened. He liked Q. He even thought he would be a wonderful quartermaster someday -- once he became old enough to grow a beard. But the look on the man's face now tore at James' heart.

Bond flipped up the armrest between them and held Q to his chest. His strong left arm was across the quartermaster's back and his right hand was on Q's face. "Look at me, Q," demanded Bond. Q's soft hazel eyes met the spy's. Q's face was white as a sheet. The exception to that was his mouth, which was pink from the kiss. Force was getting Bond nowhere and he decided to try a different tack.

Bond slowly lowered his face to Q's and ever-so gently James quietly pressed his lips to Q's.

As its brothers before it, this kiss also had a purpose: to calm Q down. But unlike the others, this one was not bruising or forced. This one was compassionate, soft, endearing, and heartbreakingly tender.

The plane continued to shimmy and shake around them, but Q didn't make a sound. He fisted his right hand into James' jacket lapel and the other gently caressed the agent's right wrist as the kiss persisted.

As the pressing of their lips continued on, Q relaxed into it. Not because he was enjoying the snog -- which he was, if he was honest -- but because in that moment of perfection nothing else existed. He wasn't going to die. James Bond was saving him.


	6. The Coming Peace

The plane continued to shake and shimmy as though it had an ague. James held Q in his arms and broke off his kiss. He caressed Q's face with his fingertips and said, "I will not let you die, Q. Everything will be alright. You need to trust me. I will never let anything bad happen to you. Do you believe me?" Q nodded mutely. "Good," James continued softly. He pressed Q's head to his shoulder and placed his lips by the man's ear. "Shhh," he soothed as he stroked his hand through Q's soft curls.

Q wrapped both his arms beneath Bond's leather jacket and held him tightly. The turbulence had lessened a bit since the beginning, but the captain didn't say exactly how much of this they could expect. "A few minutes" meant what, exactly? Twenty minutes? Thirty? An hour? What?

"Shhhh," said James again, adding a kiss to Q's temple, "It's all alright, Q. It'll be fine. You're safe here with me. It's all going to be fine."

Bond's voice was mesmerizing. He could probably charm the birds from the trees. Q thought he sounded like a guardian angel.

The plane dipped violently downward and then swooped back up again. Somewhere one of the passengers was sick in a bag. Q shut his eyes tightly, wrapped his arms tighter, and tried to concentrate on James' heartbeat. He could just hear it over the vibrations of the plane. For his part, Bond gripped Q even tighter than before. It was good to have something so solid as James Bond to cling to. Q had never been so grateful.

After a minute of calmer flying, Q looked up at Bond. His blue eyes were steady, his mouth held a soft smile. Q risked a fingertip to Bond's jawline and traced along it. James stared at Q's lips for a few seconds before dipping his head again and kissing him softly.

It was as if Bond had learned every nuance of how Q preferred to be kissed. And considering his training and background, Q had no doubt that that is exactly what happened. Perfect pressure and technique blended into a sensation that made Q dizzy. It was a pleasant buzz; like being drunk in Paris with someone you love. Or perhaps it was just like being in love. Not that Q was in love with James Bond. No. Far from it. This was just a calming technique. That's all. And it worked. It worked marvelously.

Once again, Q noticed that Bond's hands were pleasantly warm as the agent's right hand moved from his hair to the back of his neck. His fingertips traced along the prominent sternocleidomastoid muscle of Q's neck down to his collarbone. As James traced the hollow of his throat with a soft fingertip, Q moaned into Bond's mouth. Q couldn't help himself: he gently licked at Bond's lips.

Bond pulled back a hair and looked at a thoroughly dazed and slightly debauched Q. His eyes had gone soft, the pupils blown wide and his lids were at half-mast. Bond smirked for a split second. He leaned in again and opened his mouth for his quartermaster.


	7. Steady As She Goes

Q's tongue dipped into James' mouth slowly. He brushed the tip of his tongue against the agent's, tasting him. Coffee and mint blended with a warm wine taste that was all James Bond. It was surprisingly delicious. Q allowed his tongue to slide properly against James', enthralled with the sensation.

Wet and warm, James' kiss was improved once James himself chose to participate. Up until that point, Q was controlling the kiss. James brought up his left arm and cupped the back of Q's head with his left hand. Q let out a small whimper of need as James licked into Q's mouth and continued to trace his fingertips along Q's collarbone and into the hollow just above it.

Vaguely Q wondered if Bond was enjoying this as much as he, or if the agent was simply doing what it took to calm him down. It would be just like James Bond to treat this as a mission obstacle instead of just letting go and enjoying himself. Ah well... his loss. Q moaned into James' mouth again and wrapped his arms around the agent's torso. Q's hands splayed wide across James' back as he glided caresses over Bond's Adonis frame. His hands went up and down James' spine, came around his ribs, up his pectorals and back down and around again. It was perfection.

Finally, James broke off their kissing. His face was flushed and his breathing was a bit more labored. The plane hadn't shaken for a while now. Q reasoned that there was really no need to keep up the calming technique and that's why Bond stopped kissing him. It was a sobering realization: Bond really was just on the job.

Steady on, quartermaster... don't get ahead of yourself. It's a job. It's Bond. He's not a man, he's a machine: cool, calculated, sensible, and logical. He's not in love with you. It's a means to an end. That's all.

Q sat back in his seat and sighed, trying to forget how much he had enjoyed himself. He felt a warm hand on his. Q looked at Bond, curiosity plain and open on his face. Bond didn't look at him. He just stared straight ahead and eventually shut his eyes.

This was mixed signals. Either Q was a job or he wasn't. But perhaps Bond saw the hand-holding as a sort of safeguard or preventative measure. If Q were to ever panic, the warmth of James' hand would serve to provide Q with a focus point, something that could help him not panic, or at the very least, something that would cause his panic to not be so extreme. It was a good plan.

And James' hands were so warm.

Q closed his eyes. In minutes, sleep took him.


	8. Descent into Abu Dhabi

Q awoke to the sound of the flight attendant on the speaker: "Ladies and Gentlemen we are now beginning our descent into Abu Dhabi. Please make sure that your seat backs and tray tables are in their upright and fully locked positions and stow any carry-on items away now. We are prohibiting access to the lavatories at this time. We are coming along the aisles to collect any last-minute rubbish. Please secure your seat belts low across your laps. We hope you enjoyed your flight and we wish you safe travels. Thank you for flying with us."

Descent. OK... the ground was going to get closer. That was good. Being on the ground was good. Q held James' hand firmly and closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch the ground getting closer. He tried not to think about any slight miscalculation that might cause them to come in too steep or too shallow, resulting in a fiery crash instead of the pillow-soft landing he prayed for.

"Breathe, Q," said James in his ear, "Or do you just want another snog?"

"What?" said Q, a bit dazed by the question. "No," he said at last, "No thank you, double-oh... erm... Commander Bond. I'm fine."

"Good," said James with just a hint of doubt in his eyes, "Glad to hear it."

The plane sank slowly down and it was as if Q could feel every foot that went by. He forced himself to close the window screen so that he wouldn't be tempted to judge the angle of descent. He concentrated on his breathing and tried his best to relax. Bond deciding to keep hold of his hand proved a very wise move on the agent's part; it allowed him that precious focus that Q needed so badly now.

James' hand was strong and soft with a hint of rough skin. Q couldn't feel the actual strength in it, but half of what any agent is taught is to give off an air of power. Q knew that if Commander Bond so chose, he could break Q's hand in seconds. But he didn't. It was like holding the paw of a tame lion. And a warm one at that. Q wondered if all of James Bond's skin were as warm as his hand.

He blushed as he recollected their earlier kiss. Bond's mouth was raging hot compared to his hand. And his tongue...

Q shook his head and watched the flight attendants go about their duties. The cabin itself still felt claustrophobic, but Bond's warm hand gave his panic pause.

A sudden whirring sound and vibration made Q jump. "Just the landing gear coming down, Q. Perfectly normal," said Bond. Q took a deep breath without being told and felt himself relax a bit more. Landing gear. Essential for a safe landing. The fact that it came down at all was excellent news. Things were going to be alright. Just fine. He was going to survive this leg of the journey.

He turned his glance to the agent on his right. Gratitude washed over Q as they glided toward the runway. Commander James Bond had saved him. Where would he be right now if he hadn't been here? Q didn't want to contemplate such a thing.

Far out the other side of the plane, Q noticed lights in the darkness. Were we that close to the ground already? That can't be right. The angle looks OK, but what about the air speed? What was the air speed? If they were coming in too fast and ran out of runway, what then?

James looked into Q's eyes, turning his body and blocking Q's view. "I thought you said you were fine."

"I am," said Q, his voice wavering only a bit. He cleared his throat. "Honestly, Commander Bond, I can handle this." He stuck his chin out for emphasis.

The entire craft shuddered as the wheels hit the tarmac. Q's conviction shattered into a thousand pieces as he shouted: "Oh GOD!" and squeezed Bond's hand hard enough to crush his knuckles painfully together.

"Q!" said James.

"Oh God," was all Q could manage as the engines cycled backward loudly. Q shut his eyes tight.

"This is normal. This is all normal," said Bond, "Relax, Q. We're on the ground again." Bond's patience seemed to be wearing thin. "For God's sake, man! Pull yourself together!"


	9. Layover

They were to remain on the craft as continuing passengers to Hong Kong. Shame really. Q wanted desperately to get off and walk about a bit in fresher air. As it was, the flight attendants did allow him to stand up and walk in the aisles. They had noticed his panic. Of course they had. Can't be a flight attendant these days and be inattentive. Especially when someone was nervous. Q mused that people such as himself were probably more of a danger than any terrorist. With a terrorist, you knew what they wanted. You knew what they're trying to achieve. With a mad man trapped in a small pressurized box high up in the earth's atmosphere, who was to tell? No one could predict what he'd be capable of.

Q looked up to see Bond talking with one of the more attractive flight attendants. She was a brunette of delicate proportions with pretty legs. She laughed at something Bond had said and gave Q a glance. They were talking about him, Q supposed. Fantastic.

Another attendant came to Q and asked him to take his seat once more as the next round of passengers were getting ready to board. Q thanked the attendant and told him that he would pass that message along to his traveling companion. Q marched to where Bond stood with the brunette. When he reached them, she gave Q a glance and murmured something to Bond. Bond nodded and faced Q.

"So," said Q, "making friends, are we?"

"Jealous?" asked Bond as he pushed past Q toward their seats. Q glared at him as Bond turned and waited for Q to get into the window seat.

"Not particularly," Q mumbled, but he knew it was a lie. It burned him to know that Bond could read him so easily. All his insecurities, all his anxiety, all his jealously, were labeled in plain white boxes easy for James Bond to read, handle, expose, and abuse. He sat down with a huff and fastened his safety belt for lack of anything better to do.

The first class cabin filled quickly. The high-priced priority seats were always the first to load up. Q was grateful to be flying in first class. The seats were roomier, there were less people, and you got served meals with real cutlery and plates. It was as comfortable as could be provided for and still get the damn plane in the air.

No.

No, Quartermaster.

You are NOT going to calculate how much lift and thrust it would require to get this plane off the ground. Don't do it. Don't. If you do think about how much exactly every seat, every passenger, every fork weighs, you'll panic and then Bond -- arrogant fuck Bond -- will be in your ear again and holding your hand again and snogging you again. Do not contemplate how much sheer tonnage this craft weighs because he'll only have more leverage over you. He'll hold it against you somehow. Just fucking DON'T.

"Breathe, Q," said Bond.

Q glared at him angrily. Bond was holding out his hand. Q looked at Bond's hand and then back up to Bond. Q sighed, resigned to his fate and took his hand.

This was going to be a long fucking trip.


	10. Up Up and Away

This ascent was much better than the first. Q didn't kiss Bond once. He was rather proud of himself for that achievement. Q risked a glance at Bond and noticed a smirk of pride on the agent's face. Q supposed that Bond felt that he was responsible for Q's success. An hour ago he would have let Bond have his moment, but now the smirk just irritated Q.

"Jealous?" Bond had asked him. As if it mattered. As if Q cared one tinker's damn about who Bond was attracted to. They were on a mission. That should be their only focus. This mission should be carried out with professionalism and clinical stoicism. And that's how it was going to be for the rest of his time with Bond. He was done being a cowering fop. From here on out the Quartermaster would be the Quartermaster.

Q removed his hand from Bond's grip and pulled a magazine out of the pocket in front of him. He read it in silence as the captain made the now-familiar announcement that they were at thirty-eight thousand feet and people were free to get up if they needed to. Wasn't it thirty-six thousand feet on the first part of the journey? Why thirty-eight? Why in hell did they have to be higher? Oh... of course. Everest. They had to climb over the Himalayas.

Christ. They were going to fly over the tallest mountain on earth. OVER it. The. Plane. Was. Flying. OVER. THE. TALLEST. OBJECT. ON. EARTH.

The elephant was back on Q's chest.

"Breathe, Q."

God damn it. "Shut up, Bond," said Q through clenched teeth, "I'm fine."

"You're white-knuckling your chair again," said Bond in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"So what?" said Q. He was determined that Bond would not coddle him on this leg of the flight. He was going to make Hong Kong under his own power if it killed him. Q took a deep breath -- not because Bond told him to, but because he wanted to and because it helped. He took another. Q could feel Bond watching him. He tried not to care. He just kept taking deep breaths until Bond sat back in his chair and flipped through a magazine of his own.

The friendly flight attendant Bond had been chatting up came over to take their drinks order. She smiled at Bond. Q thought she was a little too friendly. And a little too liberal with the eye makeup.

"Martini. Shaken, not stirred," said Bond coolly.

"And for your boyfriend?" she asked.

Q started.

Bond smiled gently at Q. "He usually doesn't drink alcohol," Bond said to her, "but in this case, I think you'd better make it two martinis."


	11. A Pleasant Flight

The tang of gin and vermouth hit Q's tongue. He stirred his olive thoughtfully. The flight attendant thought Bond and he were a gay couple? Well, of course they did. They were snogging like two randy teenagers in the back of a VW camper van for the first six hours of the flight. They must think that he and Bond are on their honeymoon or something. Not that Q minded.

Sexuality and sexual identity were nothing he'd bothered to categorize about himself. He simply preferred what he preferred. He had his fair share of experiences (all negative) with different sexes in the past. It's not his fault that science was his only true bride and that all the other partners he had had couldn't (or wouldn't) compete. He had his program codes to develop and his inventions to create. They were his world. He didn't need anything else. And then MI-6 rang him up and off he went.

But then, none of his past partners were like James Bond.

Q shook the thought from his head with a small grin. It was foolish to even entertain the thought of James Bond as his 'partner'. There was no way. And besides, Bond couldn't afford attachments. Not with his life.

Q took another sip and ate one of his olives. He hadn't eaten much on the first part of the journey and the alcohol was hitting him rather hard. He felt warmth spread all over and he began to relax. This was better. He should have had a drink the moment they started serving them. He would have been too drunk to think about cabin size, fiery crashes, turbulence, the Himalayas, or James fucking Bond. He would know better for the flight home.

Oh Christ, that's right. They had to go BACK too. Jesus. Sometimes Q just hated his brain.

He took a big gulp of the martini at the same time he tried to breathe and it burned his nose, causing him to sputter and cough. Bond's hand was on his drink, easing it to the tray. The agent's other hand was slapping his back. Recovering enough to speak, Q said, "Easy! That's enough, Commander! I'm not a baby with a bubble!"

"Sorry," said Bond, handing him a napkin, "I was just trying to help."

Q wiped his nose and mouth and took a deep breath. He glared at Bond, "Well... don't."

Bond actually looked a bit hurt at this and Q instantly regretted saying anything. "I'm sorry, Bond," Q said, "I'm just a fucking nervous wreck and I can't tell you how much I hate this."

"I know you hate it, Q," said James. "I knew I'd have to help you out the whole way there. But I also know what pride is. I can tell you've got quite a lot of it."

Q didn't quite know what to do with this. Finally he mumbled, "Thanks," and Bond gave him a charming lop-sided grin.

"We are partners in this, Q," said James. "I plan on helping you, just as you help me in the field. You have your strengths, and damn good ones. But up here, you're just going to have to lean on me a little. I just hope your pride can take it."

Q gave Bond a small smile. "I don't know how good I'll be at that, Commander."

"Please, Q," said the agent, "Call me James."


	12. Learning to Fly

"Is it an alias, James?" asked Q.

"Is what an alias? My name?" asked Bond. Q nodded. "No. Not an alias," said Bond.

"Why not?" asked Q.

"Because I'm an orphan. There's no one left to protect from harm," said James.

"I'm sorry," said Q.

"Don't be," said Bond, finishing his martini. "Wasn't your fault."

"Still," said Q, eating his last olive and feeling his face flushed from the alcohol, "A tragedy is a tragedy, no matter how you slice it. No one deserves to lose their parents before their time."

Both men were silent for a long moment. Q finished his martini and thought about Bond, the man. An orphan who dedicated his life to protecting the people of the country he loves. It's as if the orphan adopted the parent -- in this case the entire United Kingdom. Q regarded the agent with a thoughtful eye. James Bond, you are a strange and wonderful creature.

Softly, Q asked, "Is that why M -- the first M, I mean -- Is that why she trusted you so much? Because you had nothing to lose? No one to worry about who'd be worrying about you?"

James thought a moment and with a fond smile and a distant look in his eye he said, "She said once that orphans always made the best agents. So yeah... I suppose that's why she trusted me."

"I didn't know her for very long," said Q, "but the woman I met was..."

"A force to be reckoned with," said James. "I hated her and trusted her with everything. I resented her, but would do what it took to accomplish the mission for her."

"Sounds a bit like you really did have a mum all along," mused Q.

James raised a skeptical eyebrow. "She would've sacked you if she heard you say that."

"And yet YOU don't deny anything," retorted Q. James didn't say a word. He just looked at Q, a bemused look gracing his features. Q looked at James and laughed. James joined him. It was the first time Q had laughed since hearing that he would be sent to Hong Kong.

It felt good to laugh.


	13. High Above the Clouds

The brunette flight attendant with the nice legs that Q didn't mind so much anymore came by to collect their glasses and James ordered another round of martinis. As she scurried off to do the handsome agent's bidding, Q looked at James and said: "It's all so easy for you, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Pulling," said Q. "I could never do it." The gin was working its magic on Q's lips, causing him to say and ask much more than he intended. Not twenty minutes ago, he was angry at James and was determined to be as professional as possible from that point on. Now here he was asking Bond for pointers on how to chat up women.

"I wasn't trying to pull her," said James. "She asked me how long we had been married and I told her that we weren't. She assumed the whole boyfriend thing. I simply forgot to dissuade her."

"Convenient," said Q. "So why is she still being so flirtatious with you? Doesn't she know that you have no leanings toward her gender? I mean... Since she's the one who thinks you're gay, why in hell's name would she still try to flirt with you?"

"I don't know," said Bond. "Perhaps she likes gay porn." Q raised an eyebrow at this. "What? Only straight men can enjoy watching two lesbians go at it, but straight women are expected to always desire straight sex in their pornography?"

Q laughed. "You never struck me as the type of man who would stand up for gender equality like that."

"Men and women are capable of the same sins, Q," said Bond soberly, "Never forget that."

The flight attendant came back and served both men their drinks. As soon as she was gone, Q asked, "Are you gay?"

Bond thought a moment and then said, "I am primarily heterosexual, women being my first choice as sexual partners."

"But...," prompted Q.

"But I have been known to... dabble," said James, "from time to time. Usually for missions."

"I see," said Q quietly. He was suddenly a bit more sober at this confession. Q wanted to believe that there was genuine affection in Bond's earlier amorous expressions, but this admission cast a new light on things. Bond had kissed him to calm him. It really was a means to an end. He did it for a mission. Otherwise he would still be trying to hold his hand and kiss him again... wouldn't he? 

Q quietly sipped his martini praying that the gin would make him drowsy enough to sleep so that he wouldn't have to face his own humiliating realization: Q wanted James Bond to be in love with him. And James Bond didn't want Q at all.


	14. Soaring

Q closed his eyes and enjoyed the buzz from the gin. No use pressing the matter. Bond -- James -- was not in love. What was worse, he seemed incapable of ever being in love. Q supposed it was for the best. Neither of them could really afford emotional attachments. Although, if Q were honest, it would seem that he was beginning to develop one for Commander Bond.

He heard the flight attendant come back and Bond asked him whether or not he was finished with his drink. Q didn't respond. He just pretended as though the booze had gotten the better of him and stayed relaxed against his seat in seeming repose. He heard Bond say something to her softly and she giggled. Instantly, Q was annoyed with her again. He felt as though he and James were being objectified by her. He could picture her imagining he and Bond together in bed and having a wonderful time. It was slightly nauseating.

He would never understand people in general. If he could have done away with all his sexual attraction to whatever struck his fancy years ago, he would have. It would probably be much less complicated to be asexual. But then, perhaps not. Everyone had their issues. The grass was always greener and all that rot.

James was putting a blanket over him. He could feel the light touch of the man's breath on the skin where his shirt was open at his neck. Out of curiosity Q lifted one lid open -- just to see how close Bond actually was to him. Bond caught his eye before Q could escape detection. He was silently cursing his luck when he felt Bond's warm lips touch his briefly.

A flood of relief and happiness came over Q in a wave. His eyes opened to see James smiling at him gently. "I'm not a mission, then," he mumbled to the agent. A look of curious confusion registered on Bond's face. "I'm not a job," rephrased Q. It was a question rather than a statement, but between his exhaustion from his anxiety, the alcohol, and what he thought was the agent's unilateral rejection of him, he was too spent to be any more clear.

Bond was still confused, but now he looked slightly bemused as well. Q found it annoying. Q grunted in frustration and decided that actions spoke louder than words. He leaned up and kissed James slowly, brushing the back of his right hand against the commander's right jawline. After a few seconds, Bond returned the kiss emphatically, dipping his tongue into Q's hot mouth. Q's tongue responded in kind and through the slow intertwining of his tongue on Bond's, Q felt a slow build of heat in his groin. Oh dear Lord, did he want this man.

But why was this all so damned confusing? Why didn't James understand that Q didn't want to be a job, a burden, an obstacle to be dealt with? Couldn't he see by now that Q was absolutely mad about him? And that it was hateful -- so fucking hateful -- to Q to be rendered helpless by a strong jaw and a pair of blue bombardier's eyes.

Loathing his weakness, Q melted into Bond's embrace, reaching up with his left hand and carding his fingers through the man's hair. Q felt Bond's strong arms about him and allowed himself to only think of the kiss that bound them. For a few precious moments, nothing else existed. It was bliss.

Q felt Bond snake his fingertips down his neck once more and play along his collarbone. Q wondered if that touch was indicative of where Bond wanted to trace his lips, his tongue, his teeth...

And Q would let him. By God, how he would let him.

All too soon for Q's liking, James broke the kiss and slipped his arms from him. Q kept his eyes shut, willing it not to be so, but to no avail.

"Sleep well, Q," he heard Bond whisper, "By the time you wake, we'll be in Hong Kong."


	15. Hong Kong: Landing

Warm lips on his registered somewhere in his brain and Q opened his hazel eyes. He found himself looking into James' face, a small grin playing about his lips. "Time to wake up. We're here," he said softly. Q smiled gently at him, and sat up. The blanket was still across his lap, his seat belt fastened. The cabin lights were on and everyone was milling about collecting their things.

"I slept through the landing?" he asked Bond.

"Afraid so," he replied. "I know how much you were looking forward to it." Q gave him an mock look of annoyance.

A thought occurred to Q: "Did you kiss me to wake me up?"

Bond gave him a wry smile and said, "You object?"

Q looked at him, appraising him. "No," he said simply.

"Good," the agent responded as he got up from the chair. He leaned back over his seat to Q and said in a soft voice, "Because I have a feeling it won't be for the last time." He winked.

Q felt himself blush and in a bit of a daze, gathered his things and de-boarded the plane. The airway was the last time that Q was meant to see Bond and Q's eyes trailed over the man's physique as he strolled just ahead of him along the corridor toward the main terminal. Once they were at the terminal, Bond was to go his way, Q another. They were staying at separate hotels until the end of the mission. Bond's job was recovery of the chip. Q's job was logistics.

Hong Kong airport terminal was a nightmare of humanity. It was mid-morning and everyone and their mother was calling out to one another, shoving, pushing, pulling, and basically making a nuisance of themselves. Q watched Bond disappear into the crowd, his eye following him for as long as he dared stare.

Suddenly, Q experienced a feeling of emptiness. It's not as if the plan wasn't to meet up with Bond again after the chip was recovered. They were meant to fly home together after all. But there was always the possibility that they had been compromised. There was a very great likelihood that they would both be dead by that night, the chip lost forever to the highest bidder.

The plan was to meet again and fly home. But in the world of espionage, things didn't always go according to plan.

Q pushed up his glasses, shouldered his bag, and tried to look like the rich son of a coal magnate. He tried not to worry about Bond.

He was not successful.


	16. Setting up Logistics

Q closed the hotel room door with a sigh. He hated working in the field. It jangled his nerves almost as much as flying.

He had an hour to kill before Bond should be in place. He attempted to lay across the bed, but was too keyed up to sleep. He sat up and looked about the room. May as well do a sweep for bugs.

Waste of time. Q did not exude the air of a super spy like Bond did. No one was watching him. Still, it was nice to be certain. It was nice to be thought of as unworthy of notice. Q loved being underestimated. It meant that the bad guys were easy to fool.

He grinned to himself as he recalled his first meeting with James: it was at the National Museum sitting in front of that painting of "a bloody big ship" as Bond had put it. At the time, Bond had underestimated him. "Still had spots", indeed. Bond didn't understand that he was clever. He just saw the packaging and thought: "Well this one's too young, too inexperienced. He's for the early retirement package. He won't be able to hack it." Bollocks.

Q set up his computer terminal. The pieces of it were cleverly hidden about the room by a reconnaissance team disguised as hotel housekeeping staff. No one knew what the other was placing and where or for what purpose. It was much like builders being brought in to add different things to a secret room in a house, each man only knowing about his job and no one else's. It was the best way to hide something to where your entire project would not be compromised. 

And they couldn't afford to be compromised. Fung Chao Incorporated was a very profitable technologies company based in China. Their Hong Kong office was the center for all their R & D. But it was as secure as Fort Knox. Even more so. Linked with the Triad, the company had its dirty little hands in everyone's secrets and was known to do deals under the table with certain persons of ill repute from time to time. And Bond had to walk into that lion's den and come out without a scratch. Good bloody luck.

By the time Q had finished setting up, he had a working computer complete with three monitors and a satellite feed set up to guide Bond through the maze of a security building on the other side of the island. Once the chip was received, he would also be able to securely test it from that computer. Q sat back with a cup of Earl Grey and waited for contact.

Three hours later, it never came.

A day later, he received word to pull out and go home. Mission was scrubbed. Bond was MIA.

Q looked out over the city and for the first time in a long time, he wept.


	17. Rescue

"Is this a secure channel?" asked M.

"Yes, sir," said Q.

"You've been ordered home, Quartermaster," said M, "Why aren't you on your way?"

"Because I can't leave Bond," said Q. It was true. He had allowed himself a bit of weakness by weeping for the man, but then he had gotten clever. If Bond were indeed gone, the tracking device he wore wouldn't be operational. If it lost track of Bond's heartbeat, it would set off a signal of last location and it's tone would change. Nothing like that had happened. Which meant that Bond was still out there. And he was still alive. Q explained all of this to M.

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "I'll give you twenty-four more hours, Q," he said. "Then you're coming in."

"Understood, sir," said Q. Relief flooded over him.

Q disconnected the call and looked again at the information coming from the device. It was giving off a signal that Bond was alive, but the signal itself wasn't tracking back to Bond's actual location. Q tried to reconfigure things from his end, but it was all for naught. It must be damaged somehow.

Q's world was reduced to listening to the steady beep-beep-beep of the device as the hours ticked away. It was like waiting for someone on life support to die. Q paced the room and checked his watch. If things had gone to plan, he would be leaving in ten minutes for the drop-off point to collect the chip. He stared at the computer, the constant beep echoing his own heartbeat.

After nine and a half minutes, Q grabbed his satchel and left the room.


	18. Lost and Found

The marketplace was crowded, but Q wouldn't have it any other way. He was head and shoulders above most of the people there, the odd tourist exchanging glances with him at eye level. It was noisy too: music , voices, and the occasional engine motor of a scooter mixed together to create a cacophony that Q hoped would help people ignore the white boy with the tousled hair and hazel eyes. He did look like just another student visiting the great city. Sometimes youth was an advantage.

Panic was rising in his chest as he neared the bench with the blind beggar and his dog. Q dropped a few coins into the hat and wished the blind man happiness and luck for the coming new year in Cantonese. The old man smiled and bowed. His dog whined and Q pet its shaggy head. "And to your dog too," he added.

"May all the luck of heaven shine on you too, sir," said the old man.

"Kindness is its own luck," said Q, moving past the man and up the stairs into the building behind him. Once inside, he took a seat at the last table in the corner. A waiter came to take his order. Q hadn't eaten in hours and was getting a headache. "Just some charsu bao and tea," he ordered in Mandarin.

He ate slowly, allowing the food to sharpen his senses by degrees. He looked about as he ate and noticed that no one was noticing him. That was excellent. Q reached a hand under the table slowly, looking for the item that was supposed to be there. It wasn't.

He removed his hand as the waiter came to take his plates. Q dropped a chopstick and went under the table to retrieve it, glancing up at the underside of the table to see if he had just missed the chip by accident.

There was no accident because there was no chip.

Which meant that there was no Bond.

He didn't make it out. He was trapped somewhere where Q couldn't find him. Where no one could find him. Q swallowed hard. Bond was lost. Forever.

Q couldn't let him die alone, but he couldn't find him. He would have to do the next best thing: he would have to configure his phone to track Bond's signal. That way, he could be there in spirit when the signal went solid tone. Q would be there the moment Bond's heart stopped beating. He shut his eyes against the tears, paid his bill, and walked back to the hotel.

The lump in his throat was too much to bear and before he made it to the hotel, he ducked into an alley way and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes. After a while, he pulled himself together and finished the journey. There was so much to do. He had to sweep again for bugs, dismantle and destroy the computer, reconfigure his phone, pack, get to the airport, and go home -- alone.

"What sort of a time do you call this then?" a voice asked.

Q flipped on the light to his room and nearly fainted as a bruised, bloody, and torn Commander James Bond lay on his bed. 

"Hi, honey," Bond added with another of his wry grins, "I'm home."

He held up a hand that was covered in blood. Between two of his fingers was a rare and highly sought-after computer chip.


	19. Thanksgiving

Q ignored the chip completely as he dropped his satchel and ran to embrace Bond. Q buried his nose in the agent's neck, sobbing audibly. "Jesus Christ, Bond," he moaned through his tears, "Where in hell have you been?"

"Long story," said Bond wincing a bit as Q crushed against him, "I'm afraid you'll have to read the official report later."

Q pulled away to look at his bruised face. He touched a scrape on his forehead lightly with one finger. Bond flinched a bit, but let the other man examine his wounds. Fortunately there were no major bones broken, but the bruises alone were painful enough. He'd had worse. But to Q, his injuries were the most terrible thing he had ever seen.

Q didn't want Bond thinking he was some overly-concerned mothering type, but he was shattered at how Bond looked. His lip was split. Q placed a gentle fingertip to it and kissed it gently. Bond responded a bit, but was obviously too exhausted to move. "Did you sweep?" asked Q, thinking along more practical lines now that his shock had subsided.

"No," said James, "Too exhausted." Q nodded and swept the room for bugs. There were none, as he expected. He retrieved the chip, cleaned it, tested it. It worked perfectly. Q turned to give Bond a gratified smile, but he could see that James had fallen fast asleep.

Q stood at the foot of the bed and watched him for a moment. He looked powerful even in his sleep. There was something lion-esque about him, majestic. It warmed Q's heart to have him back, but it made him blush to think that this man had some feeling for him. While not precisely love, it was something akin to a strong affection mixed with sexual attraction. It was enough for Q.

Over the next hour, Q contacted headquarters and M was relieved to have both his agents reporting positive results. The chip was made secure and their return travel plans were set for four hours later. Q had just enough time for some kip and a shower -- not necessarily in that order.

He threw a glance at Bond's sleeping frame as he walked into the bathroom to run a shower. Still out cold. He couldn't wait to read that report.

The chip was secure. The doors and windows were locked and barred. For the next four hours they were safe and quite alone.

Q stepped under the spray and breathed a sigh of relief as the hot water coursed over his body. He felt his muscles slowly relax and moaned softly but audibly as the sensation overtook him.

The shower door opened and closed again. Q felt hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles. A body pressed up against his skin.

"Moan again like that, Q," whispered Bond as he pressed a tender kiss to the gooseflesh at Q's neck.


	20. Steam

Q let out a moan that he had only usually reserved for those private moments alone when the mood had struck him. The difference this time was there was an incredibly handsome and fit secret agent humming his approval into his skin. Q placed his hands against the cool tile and pushed his body back into Bond. The delicious sensation of warm wet skin on skin, Bond's kisses on his neck, strong hands against his hips, the water hot and pouring down on them: all of this was like a damn dream. 

Q turned his head and captured Bond's mouth in his. Bond's grip on Q's hips tightened and Q ground back against James' building erection. "Oh... James," moaned Q.

Bond turned him around and cupped his face. Water poured over his shoulders and head as he planted a searing kiss on Q's lips, his hands trailing down Q's neck and shoulders. Q wrapped his arms around Bond's chest. Bond broke the kiss and asked, "I've never asked you. What is your name, Q?"

Q smiled and said, "Geoffrey Boothroyd."

James stopped and stared, "Seriously?" Q looked at him, slightly offended. James said, "I think I prefer to call you Q."

Q shook his head and smiled. "Tosser," said Q playfully.

"I'll show you a tosser, you git," James countered, grinning at him. Bond lifted Q off his feet and pressed him against the tile. Q wrapped his arms around James' neck and gasped. Bond's hot tongue slid against Q's and Bond moaned into Q's mouth.

Their erections slid against one another and Q shuddered at the sensation. "Oh God, James," Q moaned. Q moved his mouth to Bond's neck, sucking and licking his way down to the man's collarbone.

"Geoffrey." His name was said reverently, like a prayer. Q couldn't help but look at Bond at the mention of his name. They touched foreheads and panted into each other's mouths. "They told you to pack it in, didn't they?" asked James.

"Yes," said Q.

"Why didn't you?" he asked. "Orders are orders, mate. You could have ended your career right there and then. Why did you stay?"

"Because I still had a signal on you," said Q. "And I still had hope you'd make the drop-off." Q let his hands move over the tight muscles of Bond's chest, his fingers changing the rivulets of water that still beat down on them both.

"But I didn't make it," said Bond kissing Q intermittently as they talked.

"I know," said Q, "Which is why I came back here. I was planning--"

"What?" asked Bond.

"I was planning on being there for you when they killed you," said Q, blushing with shame. "I knew it was only a matter of time. I wanted to be there when your tracker stopped."

Bond just stared at Q with a perfect poker face. Q couldn't tell if James was angry with him or not.

"Why would you do that?" asked Bond. "Why would you want to be there when some machine told you I was dead?"

"Because that way...," said Q, swallowing hard, "That way, I'd know that you weren't alone in the end."


	21. Wet and Warm

Bond crushed a kiss on Q's mouth and brought his hand to their throbbing cocks. Taking them together, he pumped his fist over them causing them both to gasp and Q to pull his head away and shout: "Jesus Christ, James!"

Q reached down for some soap, slicked up his hand and placed it over Bond's, his tapered fingers able to wrap cleanly around them both. James took his hand away, grabbed Q's hips, and ground his hips into Q's. They looked at each other as they fucked Q's fist.

How could two days mean so damn much to both of them? Q wanted Bond more than ever and here they were in the shower, lathering each other's hard cocks up and grinding together like a couple of horny teenagers. Q wondered if there was going to be a repeat performance of this in their futures. He hoped there was because this was too damned beautiful.

Water trailed over both of them in rivulets and Q could see where Bond was bruised. Dark purple splotches the size of fists decorated his torso, but they didn't seem to phase the agent. The man was a machine. Impressive. As for Q, he was always a bit ashamed of his slim figure, but James didn't seem to mind. If any doubts remained as to James' attraction to him, Bond swept Q's hair back from his forehead and kissed him passionately, the agent's tongue plunging into the quartermaster's hot greedy mouth.

Q moaned wantonly as he picked up the pace of his stroke. As the kiss broke and their panting breath mingled for a bit, Bond said, "I'm too close, Geoffrey. Don't... want to... Not here." Regrettably Q let go of the both of them. "Come on," said James, "Bed."

They exchanged one more lingering sloppy kiss before shutting the water off, grabbing a couple of towels, and making their way to the bedroom.

"Do you top or bottom?" he asked Q.

"I would have thought you top, Bond," said Q.

"But tonight I'm all yours, Geoffrey," said Bond, his voice registering at a lower octave than normal. A shiver went through Q. Jesus...

"In that case," said Q, "I want to cum inside you. I want to feel you all around me. I want to feel you tighten as you orgasm. Is that alright?"

"Perfectly," said Bond. He kissed Q gently on the neck, trailing along his collarbone, and nibbling at the skin.

Q let out a cry of surprise at the biting. That was so good... so fucking good...

"How do you want me?" asked Bond and Q shivered again.


	22. Connection

"You're cold," said Bond. He took the towel from around his own waist and wrapped it around Q's back. He held him close and rubbed his back. Q wrapped his arms around Bond's chest and let his fingertips trace down the agent's spine as he kissed him softly. Q's hands traveled lower to the curve of his arse, teasing the dip just above with one hand and caressing the curve with the other.

"I want you to lie down on your stomach," whispered Q into James' ear. He licked the shell of it and sucked on the lobe. He bit it gently before releasing it. Bond turned his head, kissed him deeply, and did as he was bid. Q dropped the towels to the floor, turned to his things, and dug around for some lube and a condom. The condom he always had on him. (You never knew.) And the lube? Well... he knew when they'd left England that he'd be in this hotel room just waiting and waiting... may as well have a toss. What was it going to hurt?

As Q returned to the bed, placing the items on the mattress, he observed more purplish bruising along Bond's back. He lightly placed his lips to these. "You look awful," said Q, "And you look gorgeous all at the same time." He shook his head. "How in hell do you manage it?" Bond chuckled but said nothing. The agent let his quartermaster explore his body, gracing it with feather-light touches and reverent kisses all along his back, down his spine, tracing down his thighs to the backs of his knees and up again to his perfect arse. Q massaged the muscle with both hands, licking and sucking and kissing all over the sensitive flesh. Gently he parted his arse cheeks to expose James' hole. Slowly, achingly slowly, Q traced the tip of his tongue along James' opening. Bond let out a long groan of pleasure and pressed back a bit at the pressure of Q's tongue.

"God, Geoffrey..." Bond grunted.

Q wasn't pulling any punches anymore. At the mention of his name he put both of his arms between Bond's legs, wrapped them under and around either side of his pelvis, and plunged his hot tongue deep inside him. Bond cried out in pleasure and Q couldn't have been more pleased. To think that a computer geek like him could be causing one of the most deadly men in the world to writhe around like a whore... the power he felt was almost overwhelming and the flush of lust that came forth made his already hard cock ache with want.

"Need... more... Q," gasped Bond, "Now... please." Q came up on his knees and put on the condom. He slicked up one hand and slowly placed a finger inside, teasing James' prostate and receiving the most delicious moans and gasps from the powerfully-built agent. He soon added another finger and worked them in and out until James' panting, writhing, and begging were to be borne no more. "Want you... Geoffrey..." Bond begged, "Need this... please..." The man was practically sobbing. It was incredible. "Come inside me... Jesus... Please, Geoffrey."

Q lined himself up and pressed slowly into James. Q closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of his head slipping past the rings of muscle and into the wet heat of Commander James Bond. Inch after inch slowly crawled by as he felt James take in his entire length. He spread the man's cheeks wide and felt Bond push back against him, creating the closest union that their bodies could manage. When Q was fully inside Bond, he paused, waiting for James to adjust. "Let me know when I can move, James," said Q breathlessly. In truth, it was taking all the willpower Q had for him not to shag the agent through the mattress.

"Move, Geoffrey," said James, looking back at Q, "Fuck me senseless."


	23. Fulfillment

Q remembered his first time. Uni wasn't a very welcoming place and the ruggers were some awful people. Especially to someone as bright as Geoffrey. It was only later that he found that the use of a lubricant makes for a much more pleasurable experience. Well... that and not being rushed into that situation in the first place. So when it came to bottoming -- a position he preferred -- he always made sure that his partner had plenty of lubricant on hand and managed to stretch him enough to accommodate.

Despite thought to the contrary, topping is not where the control lies. When you top, you'll always have a good time. It's the bottom that needs to be pleased. When you're the bottom, you call the shots as to angle of entry and frequency and power of thrust. If your partner is a good partner, they will listen and the bottom will have a good experience. Tops get what they need to out of it no matter what happens.

Q assumed Bond liked to top just as he assumed all primarily hetero "experimenters" and inexperienced "everyone else's" liked the idea of dominating their partner. Bond still had that notion. Q smirked at the thought that Bond thought he was giving Q control of the situation by letting him top when really, it was the other way around. Amateur.

Q pulled out slowly and heard James let out a ragged breath. Q gripped his hips just as he was almost completely out and then slowly re-entered the agent. It was meant to be slow, achingly slow. He wanted to see what Bond would endure. Q's thrusts continued to be full-length and deliberately teasing for several minutes, during which Q could feel Bond's heat all the way around him. "God damn it, Q," Bond finally burst out, "Pound me! Jesus!" Bond looked around at him and glared. Q just smiled calmly back.

"Shhh... Enjoy it, love," said Q. "After all, there's nothing like a long slow fuck." He smoothed his hands against the agent's back and down his thighs. "And I want to enjoy this. Don't you?" With his final words, he leaned over Bond's back and placed a small hot kiss right between his shoulder blades. Bond moaned in response and relaxed into the rhythm, pushing back in pace with Q's movements. Eventually, Q starting adding a circular undulation which stretched Bond a bit more and glanced Q's cock against his prostate on almost every pass.

"Gahhhnnnnng," said Bond. A broad grin graced Q's features as he reduced the trained killer to nonsensical gibberish. Oh, this was divine.

Soon, however, Q himself began to feel as though his release was imminent. But he didn't want to cum into James like this. He wanted to look him in the eye as he fucked him into oblivion. He wanted to watch his face contort as he came all over himself... and all because of what Q was doing to him. Q didn't want to dominate Bond. He wanted to give him a gift. He wanted to reduce that cool exterior to a pool of twitching nerves and primal lust and he wanted James to feel safe to be that way around him. He wanted to give James Bond a place to feel himself complete, whole, unrestrained and open.

Q pulled completely out of James and told him to turn over. Bond grunted with dissatisfaction but did as he was told. Q re-entered him, bracing himself up on his long arms, one to either side of Bond's chest. James reached up and took handfuls of Q's curls. James leaned up and Q met him halfway for kisses that met on every inward thrust that Q made: a nip of the lips here, a lick of tongues there. Teeth, tongues and lips meeting over and over like lapping waves on a shoreline.

"Please, Geoffrey," James softly begged between kisses, "You have to know how mad you're making me. Cum for me, Geoffrey. Please. I need it. I'm so fucking close. Please."

Q was close too, but he felt his balls tighten at these words. He reached down with one hand and stroked James' hard cock. The tip of it was wet and he slicked his thumb across the slit, spreading the precum. James' breathing became incredibly stuttered and Q picked up the pace of his stroke and his fuck. "Come for me, James," he growled, "You know you want to. Fucking cum! Jesus! Ah... ah! YES!"

James clawed at the sheets as he came, arching his back, his eyes tight shut, neck muscles straining. He called out Q's name over and over like a chant. Q thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Warm cum covered his hand and James tightened up around Q. The feel, sound, and sight of Bond and his ejaculate put Q over the edge: "James! Shit! OH GOD, James!" Q felt himself cum and his thrusts became wild and out of rhythm as he spent himself inside of that beautiful agent, finally collapsing against him heavily.

Q didn't care that they'd both need another shower after this. He just wanted to lay against James catching his breath, warm cum between them, and James' warm strong hands against his back. Q angled his head up and kissed Bond's neck. He saw the agent smile with his eyes closed. His hands began to trace warm circles on Q's back. Jesus God, Q could die right here and be perfectly alright with it.

Despite the afterglow and the warm circles against his back, there was one thing worrying Q: Was this it? Was this all? If so, it was wonderful. But if not...

Too many questions. Q would deal with that on the plane home. Right now, he was right where he wanted to be: in the arms of Commander James Bond.


	24. The Morning Flight

Dawn came too soon into Q's room. His thighs were sore and he needed a shower in the worst way. He groaned as he slapped the alarm clock on the bedside table. Jesus... he hated field work. But it was over. It was all over. He and Bond were set to go back to England in an hour and a half and... an HOUR AND A HALF?!

Q flew out of the bed, raced to the shower, scrubbed himself in record time, realized that there were no big towels left because of last night, raced to the bedroom, dried off with one of the towels from the floor, looked 'round the room for his clothes and found... nothing.

Nothing in the drawers. Nothing in the wardrobe. What the hell? He spied his satchel and his bag next to the desk in the corner. He opened it hurriedly. All his clothes were there, neatly packed. Who?... Bond.

Wait a minute... Where was Bond?

The room they had shared wasn't that spacious. It was difficult to lose a fully-grown man in a hotel suite that was basically just two rooms. No note, no nothing. There was no trace. Of anything... 

Q looked over at the side table where his makeshift computer had been set up. It was gone too.

Q swallowed hard. This was not good. The chip. Where in fuckery was the chip? He had tested it. It worked. He had secured it in his camera bag. It was almost the size and shape of an SD card, so it would blend. It was gone too.

Where was his phone? Was that missing as well? No. It was where he left it charging on the nightstand. There were three texts on it. Q exhaled and his body collapsed as he read them.

Good morning. -- JB

Slept well? -- JB

See you soon. -- JB

"Bloody fucking hell, Bond!" Q shouted to no one in particular. Nothing like a mild coronary to get your heart racing in the morning. Fucking git.

But where was the chip? Q hesitated before sending a text back. 

Did you clean up your room and is our friend with you? -- Q

He waited for a response by dressing himself quickly. His phone buzzed just as he was getting his socks on.

Got rid of mother, but baby's just fine. -- JB

I'll visit at earliest. -- Q

See you soon, love. -- JB


	25. Taking Off Again

"Love"?

What was that about? Q dimly recalled calling Bond "love" during their... encounter last night, but for Bond to call him "love" in a text... It was weird. Weird, but nice. 

Q finished getting dressed and packed up the remainder of his things, which wasn't much; Bond was pretty thorough.

He left the hotel, making it to the airport just under the wire for boarding the last passengers. Bond was already in his seat and casually reading a magazine. He hated how crisp and cool the man looked while Q panted and puffed exhausted from his run through the terminal.

"Here," said Bond, "You take the window seat." He got up and brushed bodily against Q as the quartermaster attempted to load his bag in the overhead compartment. It was deliberate. Q stared at Bond's boldness as the agent (who seemed completely oblivious to Q's reaction) pushed the bag into place. He regarded Q with a hidden smile in his eyes and Q couldn't help but blush. Fucking hell... James Bond missed him.

Q sat in his seat and fastened the belt. After securing his own belt, Bond flipped up the armrest between them and wrapped his arms around Q. Instantly, Q melted into James, bringing his hand around to the man's hip. Bond kissed Q sweetly on his cheek and whispered, "I didn't have the heart to wake you. You looked so damn peaceful."

"Yes... well," stammered Q, clearly overwhelmed at this unabashed affection Bond was showering on him. "You could have set the alarm for a bit further out."

"You made it," said Bond frankly.

"I know, but barely," said Q. "I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet."

"We can remedy that soon enough," said Bond as the flight attendants took their places for the safety demonstration.

"Oh God," said Q.

"What?" asked Bond.

"I had almost forgotten," said Q.

"Forgotten what? I have it-- "

"No. No, no that," said Q. "I'd almost forgotten how much I really hate to fly."

Bond smiled. "Don't worry," he said and placed a small kiss to his quartermaster's temple, "You've got me."


	26. Buckle Up

"So, about that," said Q timidly. This was not a subject he wanted to broach with Bond, but he needed a distraction from all the reminders about water landings and crashes and things. Funny how they never mentioned about crashing into a mountain. What are you supposed to do then? No. Stop. Don't obsess.

"About what?" Bond asked.

"About..." said Q snapping out of his mountain crash nightmare, "About me having you. Do I?"

"You do right now," said Bond.

"No," Q sighed, "You know what I mean. Last night. Was that it? I mean, are we... You know..."

"I don't think it's possible for us to have any kind of a real romantic relationship, do you?" said Bond. Leave it to the agent to be pragmatic. But then, Q was expecting this sort of an answer. Bond dedicated his life to one thing: England. There was really no room for anyone or anything else. And that was as it should be. After all, you don't get to be on Her Majesty's Secret Service and have half-way feelings about it. One expected an agent to be dedicated to the cause, to follow orders, to obey command. One couldn't have an agent say to his country: "Sorry, old girl. Got to have dinner with my man tonight. We'll worry about invasion from that terrorist cell in the morning, shall we? Preferably after coffee."

No... It was not possible for them to have an ongoing relationship. Q sighed again resignedly. "No, Bond. You're right. It isn't."

The engines were cycling up in that horrendous way they do just before takeoff and Q visibly stiffened. Bond took his hand. It was a comfort that Q had learned to appreciate. At least he still had Bond for a few hours longer. No one at headquarters need know. It would be his one true and lasting memory of who James Bond was capable of being when his guard was completely down. Q smiled at the recollection. 

Q felt himself be pushed back into the seat as the nose of the plane rose up off the ground and the tarmac fell away beneath them. Somehow it wasn't as alarming as he thought it would be. That was strange. He looked over at Bond. The agent found his eyes and smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze. "Alright?" he asked.

"With you, of course," Q replied.

Bond leaned over to him and kissed him softly on the mouth. "It's not a romantic relationship, Q," he said, "but it is a relationship. You have me. On a certain level you have me. And you always will. Alright?"

"Alright," said Q smiling at him. Q pressed another soft kiss to the agent's mouth and lost himself in the sensation.

Mountain crashes be damned. Right now he had James Bond.


	27. Complications

A flight from Hong Kong to London usually resulted in a diversity of human culture and ancestry aboard the aeroplane. This flight was no different. Unfortunately, considering their delicate cargo, even the flight crew had to be suspect. This was probably the most dangerous part of the mission so far.

They were flying to Istanbul with a plane change. Q silently cursed the person who selected this flight itinerary. If anything, it would have been safer to have the connecting flight on the departing trip and the direct flight on the return. This was just unconscionable. Whoever it was deserved to be demoted, if not sacked.

Luncheon came and went and so far there weren't any major hiccoughs for Q to concern himself with. As long as he kept his mind off of his surroundings and on the events of last night, he was just fine. He could still feel James' skin under his as they moved together in the dark, all sweat, panting, and beautiful moans. Q could even recall the sight of a wet and naked James Bond on his stomach in the moonlight. It was enough to justify a wank. Q considered doing just that, but somehow becoming a member of the Mile High club -- alone -- was a monumentally depressing thought.

Bond had gotten up and was walking about after their meal. Why he was doing so, Q could only speculate. He assumed Bond had spotted someone suspicious in the cabin. Q hoped that he wasn't right. Soon enough Bond came back, sat, fastened his belt, and kissed Q passionately. Q melted into his touch as always. Jesus Christ, what that man could do with his tongue! But as Bond pulled away, there was a look of regret on his face. "I'm sorry, love," he said.

"Why?" asked Q, "What for?"

"I just used you," he said, blushing.

"What?" asked Q incredulously, "Why would you do that?" Oh God... it had really all been a lie. James felt nothing for him. It was just sex. Incredible sex, but that was it. Just an orgasm. A way to pass the time in a hotel room. Jesus... How was this real? And why would Bond choose to tell him this now? Why would Bond tell him at all? Oh... Of course. Because he didn't want Q to get any ideas about anything happening when they were home. It was his way of ending it. Bond probably planned on getting Q drunk for the second flight so that he wouldn't have to deal with him. Son of a bitch. Q felt dizzy. "What kind of sick, twisted--"

"No, Q!" said James in a harsh whisper. "Not for everything! Not last night! Jesus, man! I just meant right now. Just now. There's a member of the Triad on the flight. I didn't want him getting a good look at me -- or you."

"Oh," said Q, still a bit confused and not feeling very well at all.

"Take this and go into the toilet at the front of the plane," said James and he handed Q a small hard square, no bigger than a postage stamp. "I'll join you in a few minutes."

"Right," said Q. He actually needed the toilet at the moment. Bond's words to him gave him such a sick feeling, he needed to splash some water on his face -- the sooner the better.

"And don't let anyone bump into you," warned Bond as Q stepped over him and headed for the toilet.

It felt good for Q to stand. Sitting there squished in his seat it didn't seem as if there was enough air in the cabin. Q made his way to the lavatory, locked himself in, and shook with heartache.


	28. Resolutions

Q was in the toilet for ten minutes undisturbed. Thank God there were 6 toilets on the plane. The only problem Q was having was the confined space. It was wreaking havoc with his claustrophobia and his control issues when it came to being afraid to fly. He couldn't see out. And it was a tiny space. A really tiny space. Q unbuttoned his collar and sat on the lid of the toilet. He closed his eyes and tried to picture wide open spaces with lots and lots of air. He tried to focus on his breathing. He tried to focus on a single point on the door opposite him. Nothing was working. Then he remembered moonlit sheets, lean muscle rolling underneath soft pliant skin, the dip just above James' perfect arse, the gooseflesh that rose up when Q kissed the skin between Bond's shoulder blades as he slowly fucked him into oblivion.

Q felt himself getting hard. He palmed his erection through his trousers and thought: what the hell? He was waiting on Bond anyway. And if James burst in, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen Q before. Q grinned at the thought of the face James would make if he were to suddenly break in to see Q tossing off.

Q felt his anxiety fall away as he closed his eyes and remembered the rivulets of water that ran down Bond's chest as Q held their hard cocks together under the spray. Q could still feel Bond's hands as he dug into his hips. Q unzipped his trousers and exposed his prick. The head wasn't wet yet, but that was only a matter of time. No lube at hand, he licked his palm and stroked himself. Between his memories of last night and the risk of getting caught, precum was dripping within minutes. "Oh God, James," he whispered to himself. The metal walls carried the whisper well and his soft groans sped him on his way to orgasm.

Q was just getting to the bit where he actually entered James when there was a knock on the door and Bond's voice could be heard outside. Jesus... what was he to do? If he answered the door as he was, he would risk exposing himself to not only Bond but to anyone passing by. If he told Bond to wait as he finished, would he be able to? And if not, what then? The idea of being sexually frustrated and claustrophobic while potentially getting himself killed on a mission was almost too much to contemplate. There was a second knock on the door. Bond's voice was more urgent. Q decided to risk it. He faced away from the door and reached back to unbolt it.

In seconds the agent was in the lavatory with him, bolting the door behind him. "That took long enough, Q. What in hell were you--" said Bond. Q knew he was staring, but he didn't look around. He just kept stroking himself and enjoying the sound of James' voice coming from behind him. If there was a question in his mind as to how Bond felt about his quartermaster having a wank in the middle of a mission, Bond answered that question with a sucking kiss to the back of Q's neck and a warm hand on Q's helping him stroke off. Eventually, Q just let him have at it. Bond's other hand traveled around Q's waist to his groin and cupped his balls. Q's breath stuttered at Bond's touch.

Q turned his head toward Bond's and panted, "i take it... that y-you handled... the sit-situation... That the-uh... the chip... is safe?"

"Mmm..." Bond hummed against the skin of his neck. "You should know by now Q," said Bond, practically purring in his quartermaster's ear, "That I handle things quite well. Wouldn't you agree?" Bond gave Q's dick a slight squeeze at this and Q gasped in surprise.

Bond pressed his erection into Q's arse and Q's hips responded in turn, his hands busy stroking both of Bond's arms as they ground together in the tiny compartment.

Q let his head drop back against Bond's shoulder as the agent pressed kisses to the front of his neck to his collarbone. "Don't you ever doubt me again, Q," he agent gruffly said. "I want you. I will always want you. And right now, I plan on taking what I want."


	29. Mile High Club

James spun Q around and dropped to his knees in front of him. Q looked down and marveled at the sight of the trained killer's mouth taking in his hard cock. The warm wet sensation hit him and Q felt lightheadded as James' tongue licked the underside of his shaft at the pull-off. James pumped Q's dick as he measured the reaction in his quartermaster. Q had subconsciously grabbed the side of the sink and the opposite wall and his breath was ragged. "More, James," he begged. "Please."

"Tell me what you want, Geoffrey," said James, "Tell me how you want it. Command me."

Q looked into his eyes. Of course. What was a soldier but a man who loves to take orders? "Suck my cock, Bond," said Q, his own voice somehow strangely different to his own ears. "Suck me hard at first, then tease the head with your tongue. I'm hard enough to cum, so I hope you're prepared to swallow."

"Always, quartermaster," said Bond. His voice too was registering at that lower level. It was fucking lascivious.

Once more Q's cock was plunged into the warm wet heat of Bond's mouth and the agent's cheeks hollowed on the suck off. His rhythm was intense at first, the agent practically deep-throating Q, much to Q's astonishment and pleasure. Bond would tilt his head this way and that, occasionally letting Q catch a glimpse of his cock head stretching Bond's cheek out in the filthiest way. Bond's blue eyes would flick up to Q's at these moments and Q had to put his fist in his mouth to stifle the cries of wanton ecstasy that tried to escape. Bond would just grin around Q's cock and continue his ministrations.

"Jesus, Bond... James, please...The head... work the head," gasped Q as quietly as he could.

Bond's hand came up and stroked Q's shaft as he pulled off. He licked gingerly around Q's sensitive head with the tip of his tongue and Q whimpered with frustration. Bond smiled evilly. "Like that, do you?" he purred. He licked across Q's slit, tasting the precum that was dripping freely.

Q's fist was back in his mouth at this depraved display. He pulled it away long enough to whisperingly demand: "Suck it, Bond... the head... suck it. Please."

"Yes sir, quartermaster," he said.

As Bond's lips closed around Q's bright red head, James raised his free hand from Q's hip to his mouth, fingers tracing the outline of Q's lips. Q openly sucked on Bond's first two fingers in the same rhythm that Bond was fellating him. Soon Bond's fingers were coated in saliva and Bond moved his hand down (Q releasing the fingers with a slight wet pop) and brought them to Q's opening.

"Ah!" Q breathed softly. He pushed his trousers down to the floor and spread his legs as wide as he could. Oh Jesus fuck, did he want this. Q ground his hips downward in a circular motion toward James' fingers, attempting to impale himself on them. James pushed in with one finger to start. The saliva not making the best lubricant substitute, Q felt the burn of it and sucked in a breath.

"Sorry, love," said Bond. Gently he removed his finger and pulled the small bottle of lubricant out of his pocket.

Q's eyes went wide at this. "Had you been planning this all along?" he asked.

Bond smiled up at him. "A good agent is prepared for any contingency, quartermaster."

Q grinned and relaxed as James re-inserted his lubed up finger and continued to work the head of Q's cock with his mouth. If this kept up, Q was going to cum hard down the agent's throat. He only hoped Bond would be ready.

A second finger joined the first and Q did his best to relax around that one. He hadn't had sex in some time and was a bit tight, but the memory of his past experiences was coming back to him. Just like riding a bike, Q thought. He smiled. Or perhaps more accurately... just like riding a cock.


	30. Come Fly With Me

"Jesus, James..." gasped Q as quietly as he could, "We're going to get pinched, I know it." He didn't want to get caught having sex in an aeroplane toilet. How... ignominious. But Bond didn't seem to mind in the least. He gave Q a saucy grin around his cock and stroked Q's prostate. Q's fist returned to his mouth and his his hips jerked toward the heat of James' mouth. Son of a... That was almost too much to bear.

"Christ... I'm close, James... please... Please let me cum...," begged Q.

James turned his head so the tip of Q's prick stretched his cheek out in the most pornographic way. He then took Q into his mouth as far as he was able, sucking hard on the pull-off and circling his tongue over the head at the finish, his lips never leaving the head. He repeated this three more times before sucking down hard and fast, his fist pumping the shaft, attempting to milk Q's dick for all the cum he could. Q completely lost his mind. He came hard and fast into Bond's mouth, his hips thrusting so hard that the agent nearly choked. Q bit down hard on his hand as wave after wave of cum exited his body and the heat that had been slowly building in his belly became white hot.

James swallowed reflexively and languidly licked Q clean, seeming to enjoy his completed task. He slowly removed his fingers and stood. He moved Q aside causing Q to press up against the wall. Q was panting hard, his face was flushed and a mild sheen of sweat covered his brow. As Bond passed him he whispered low into Q's ear: "You look so fucking debauched, Geoffrey. God, you're gorgeous." Bond kissed his neck. "Now come over here and sit on my cock."

James pulled his trousers and pants down to his knees and sat on the toilet seat lid. Q took off his trousers and pants completely, pulling them over his shoes with a bit of effort. He backed up onto James' lap, straddling James' thighs, spreading himself wide, anticipating the singular moment when Commander James Bond would fuck him senseless. Q's muddled mind wondered vaguely if he would come again. He wanted to. For James.

The slow burn and sensation of being filled up was overwhelming to his already addled brain. Q let his head loll back against James as he slowly sank down onto the man's prick. "Fuck yes, James," Q whispered almost reverently. Truth be told, when Q first met Bond in the museum, before any words had been exchanged, Q had a fleeting thought of sitting on the man's prick just like this. Right in the middle of the God damned National Museum. Jesus fuck.

Now they were here in an aeroplane toilet where the only thing to look at...

Holy God...

Q looked straight ahead of them to the door opposite. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

Attached to the back of the door was a thin, but full-length mirror.

Son of a bitch.


	31. Mirrored Skies

Q watched with fascination as James' thick cock disappeared inside him inch by inch. He felt the girth of it all around him and he watched Bond's expression as he finally sat fully on his hard cock. Bond's eyes were closed and his head was tilted slightly back. In the bad lighting of the lavatory, he looked like a dying saint. Utterly beautiful.

Q turned his head to James and nibbled at his jawline gently. He could barely breathe from the sensation of being so filled up, but somehow he managed to say: "I just... need a minute. Jesus, James... You're so fucking thick."

"God damn, Geoffrey," whispered James, "I can't believe --" he cut himself short as his head came up a bit and he caught the image in the mirror. An impish grin was plastered to his face. "Oh I am going to enjoy watching you fuck yourself on me." Bond reached an arm across Q's abdomen to pull his shirt tails up and the free hand went down to cup Q's balls up so they both could have a better view.

Q looked to Bond, then to the mirror, and back to Bond. He gave James a cock-eyed grin and licked the agent's mouth. Q wrapped his left arm around the back of James' head, his fingers entwined in his short hair and then he rose up bodily, pulling off of Bond's cock. Q let his back arch so that his shoulder would still be below Bond's chin and he wouldn't block their view. It was the single most lascivious thing either of them had ever seen. It was like starring in your own porno.

Slowly Q sank back down, burying Bond's cock deep into his heat. Over and over, Q rose and sank on that magnificent cock. His own erection built back up quickly; not only at the prospect of getting fucked by James bloody Bond, but also at the sight of the action happening before his very eyes. The only sound in the small space was the stuttered breath and stifled epithets of the two men. Q picked up his rhythm and Q and Bond soon found themselves staring into one another's eyes in the mirror.

Bond's hands drifted away from providing a good view of their fuck to providing Q with sensual stimuli: his fingertips glided over Q's abdomen, along his hips, traced the inside of his thighs. The touch caused gooseflesh to spring up all over Q's alabaster skin. Bond snaked one hand up Q's shirt and pinched one of his nipples gently. Instantly, Q gasped, arched his back, and reflexively clenched his arse. James grunted and whispered: "You like that, do you, Quartermaster?"

"Oh God, yes James," Q said, practically stuttering the words. He was almost too far gone for the English language. And then he was completely done for: Bond's warm and roaming hands brushed his aching cock in passing. It was a casual touch, but one that had an immediate effect. Q arched his back again and (in an almost too-loud voice) said, "God yes, James! Touch me. Fucking touch me. I want to cum for you. Please."

"I'm close too, Geoffrey," said Bond. The agent reached across the small space and pulled down a few hand towels from over the sink. "No sense in making a mess," he said to the curious look Q was giving him. One hand on Q's aching prick, one hand with towels at the ready, Bond said: "Fuck yourself harder. Find your prostate. Come on, Geoffrey. Fuck yourself and watch yourself cum in the mirror."

Q focused on the door opposite and the amazing image of his impalement on Bond's cock. James was lifting up to meet him now, one hand on Q's cock, stroking him as best he could while balancing his other forearm against the wall for leverage. Both sets of eyes were on the mirror. The slap of skin and the wanton image of their furious fuck drove them both over the edge in seconds. They both spoke each other's names as loudly as they dared as they came simultaneously, seed spilling over the hand of one and pouring deep inside the other.


	32. Cum Uppance

James' hand was a mess; Q was sure his backside needed some attention as well. But first they had to catch their breath. Q leaned heavily on James as they panted and kissed one another soothingly. James gave his hands a perfunctory wipe with the paper towels he had and moved them to Q's hips to help guide the man carefully to his feet. Q let out a groan as Bond's flagging erection left his body.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Someone was beating on the door. Good God...

Both men froze. Quickly Bond raised the toilet seat and placed Q on the toilet. "Get yourself cleaned up," he said in a low voice, "I'll take care of this." The agent handed Q his trousers, cleaned himself up and re-arranged his own clothing and unbolted the door. Before opening it, he gave Q a glance and a wink with a little half-smile. Geoffrey was too love-dazed to do anything more than smile back. James Bond was saving him again.

Bond opened the door enough for him to get out and Q heard him talking to a man. Q didn't hear what was said, but Bond closed the door behind him and Q locked it. He took care of his own clean up, attempting to get his disheveled appearance back to normal, but no amount of wetting down his hair and straightening his shirt could eliminate the invisible "well fucked" sign he would undoubtedly be wearing around his neck when he vacated the lavatory. Giving up with a sigh of resignation, he smoothed his hands over his shirt and thought about the chip.

The chip. Where was the chip? Q checked all his pockets twice. It was gone.

BANG! BANG! BANG! "What the hell are you doing in there?" a voice said. Q didn't recognize it. Apparently whatever excuse Bond had made had mollified the first fellow, but this was someone different. "Are you sick?" BANG! BANG! "Come on!"

Q was on his hands and knees searching for the chip on the floor. He checked behind the toilet lid, along the counter, in the garbage... it was nowhere to be found. His hands shook as he pulled out his phone. He texted Bond: Where's the baby?

No reply. Did Bond even have his phone on? God damn it! He dare not leave the toilet in case it was here and he missed it.

There was a light rap at the door and a female voice said: "Sir? Are you alright? Are you in need of a doctor?"

Q felt like he was dying. He was in a cold sweat and he couldn't find the chip anywhere and Bond was gone and the room was so tiny... so fucking tiny... he was in a tiny metal box in the middle of the air and he had lost the fucking chip and he couldn't breathe because there wasn't enough air and oh God oh God oh God oh God...


	33. Air Rescue

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a small medical emergency at this time. If there is a medical physician on board, would you please indicate your presence by pressing the flight attendant service button? Thank you in advance for your assistance."

Q was beginning to hyperventilate. He couldn't find the fucking bloody hateful chip and the room was closing in on him and there wasn't enough air and his vision was getting fuzzy and and and...

And the door came open, light from the cabin shining in on him. He felt strong arms lift him up, but he couldn't see who it was. They were fuzzy too. He had to find Bond. The chip was somewhere on the plane and he had to tell Commander Bond.

Whoever was carrying him didn't go far, because Q was lying on his back looking up at the ceiling of the plane. A flight attendant with a sweet face was smiling down at him and wiping his brow with a cool cloth. Someone was propping up his feet. There were voices, but he couldn't hear them clearly. It was as if he were underwater. They were talking about him, no doubt. Or maybe they were talking about the chip. There was a member of the Triad on board. Who's to say that the sweet-faced flight attendant wasn't one of them too?

He had to find Bond. James would know what to do. James would help. Q attempted to raise his head to get up and was easily pushed back down by the flight attendant who was smiling at him and speaking in patronizingly cooing tones. She didn't understand. The chip. Bond had to be told. "Lemmie....," Q managed to say, "Lemmie up..." She shushed him and placed a fresh cool towel to his forehead. "No!" Q argued. "I have to get up!"

James was suddenly in his view. Suddenly Q was no longer underwater. Even his vision was clearing up.

"How does your friend appear, doctor?" the attendant asked Bond.

Q glanced at James, confused.

James gave him a subtle wink. "I think he'll be just fine," he said. "Just a bit of a panic attack. Claustrophobia. Keep him on the floor with his feet raised until he starts making sense." James turned his attention to his "patient" and said: "Now you behave. There will be no need for fuss. You're lying here until you feel better. I'm in charge here," here Bond stressed his words carefully, "And you have nothing to worry about. Understand?"

"James," said Q, "I lost--"

"I said," repeated Bond, cutting him off, "you have nothing -- nothing -- to worry about. Got it?"

Q nodded mutely. He was still a bit muddled, but the gist was that Bond had the chip and that was all Q needed to know. The quartermaster closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"That's it," said Bond soothingly, stroking his hair, "Just breathe, Geoffrey. Everything will be fine. You're safe."

"Have you known him long?" Q heard the flight attendant ask.

"Not long," said Bond. He added softly: "But it was love at first sight."


	34. On the Approach

Twenty humiliating minutes later, Q made his way back to his seat. James got up and let him in, looking at him with a worried expression. As soon as his belt was fastened and he found a comfortable way to sit, Q glared at Bond and said angrily, "You could have made mention that you had done that, you know."

"Taken care of the baby, you mean?" asked Bond. The agent was turned toward Q and was unfolding a blanket to place across his knees.

"You bloody well know that's exactly what I mean!" Q whispered harshly. "I had a fucking panic attack because of you!"

Bond didn't say anything. He merely laid the blanket down, flipped up the armrest, and reached for Q. Begrudgingly, Q allowed himself to be held and James nuzzled his face into Q's curls. The agent made slow soothing circles with his fingertips along Q's neck and Q found himself tilting his head up to bury his nose in the hollow above James' collarbone. Bond waited a few minutes before speaking to Q, allowing for the man's anger to dissipate a bit. "My apologies, love," said James finally. "I am used to working alone. And I didn't want you to get hurt because of anything you may have on you."

"I am an agent, you know," said Q. Even to his own ears he sounded like a stroppy teenager.

"I know," said Bond, kissing his hair, "but I don't want you taking risks as I do. I should be the one in the line of fire. Not you."

Q brought up his head at this. "Do you think I can't handle risks?"

"Not here you can't, no," said Bond frankly.

""Here" meaning an aeroplane, I take it," said Q.

"Yes," said Bond. Of course that's exactly what Bond meant. He had discussed this with him on the way to Hong Kong. And it's not as if one successful flight is a cure-all for a fear of flying. There was no magic pill to get rid of the elephant that makes its home on your chest when you're in the grip of fear. They are called "irrational" fears because they have no rhyme or reason to them; they are without logical explanation or understanding -- hence the term "irrational". Bond continued to cradle Q and said: "I'm not saying your not a good agent and that you can't handle yourself in the field or otherwise. All I mean is that here, in this environment, you really will need to lean on me. And I'm fully prepared to carry you and our baby back to England safely."

Q flushed at the thought of raising an actual baby with James Bond. The thought wasn't all that unpleasant. But as thrilling as that fantasy was, the regret of Q's incapacity didn't go away. "I feel like a fool," said Q, "I feel like a child. I fucking hate it."

"I know, love," said Bond kissing his forehead gently, his hands caressing his back and neck soothingly. "Just lean on me. We'll make Istanbul and then we'll be home before you know it." James tilted Q's face to him with a finger under his chin. "And then you can show me what an amazing agent you really are."

Q smiled softly, the trials of the day catching up with him. His eyelids were heavy as he felt James press a loving kiss to his lips. So warm... this man was so fucking warm... It was delicious. Q snuggled further into the arms of his spy and allowed the relaxing scent of James Bond to overtake him. He slept.


	35. Shake Rattle and Roll

"Well, shit," Q heard Bond say. The craft was trembling and rattling again. Q was still in Bond's arms and he tried to hold down his rising panic as the turbulence rocked the aeroplane. James buried his nose in Q's hair and placed small quick kisses to his head over and over in an attempt to calm the man. Q gripped Bond tighter as the now familiar tone sounded and the captain's voice came over the speaker explaining about the seat belt sign and cautioning the passengers to return to their seats.

"Why does this keep happening?" asked Q to no one in particular.

James answered him anyway, "Because sometimes the universe is a bitch." He tilted Q's face to his own and placed his mouth on his quartermaster. It was a slow lingering kiss intended to soothe and distract. When James pulled away, Q's face held a look of pure relaxation: mouth slack, eyes heavy-lidded. He was an angel. Bond smirked at the expression Q held and asked: "Alright, love?"

"Hnnnn-hmmmmm," said Q in the affirmative.

James grinned and placed another long languid kiss to Q's lips, his tongue licking at Q's bottom lip, asking permission to plunge deeper. Q responded with his own tongue against Bond's and Q enjoyed the hot velvet feel of James' tongue inside him. Slipping and sliding against one another's, Q's tongue brushed against Bond's teeth and lips, attempting to memorize every curve and nuance of the man's mouth. He tasted incredibly good: a bit of mint, chocolate, and coffee with a warm wine aftertaste that Q recognized as James. He could kiss James Bond for hours. Days. A fucking lifetime.

As the plane continued to rattle around them and the flight attendants informed the passengers that they were halting drinks service at this time, Q was lost in a haze of James. His scent was clean and with a hint of musk: utterly masculine and yet completely comfortable, like a roaring fire or fresh leather. The skin under Q's fingertips was rough in places, supple in others. Q made a mental note to map every inch of it upon his earliest opportunity.

James moaned into Q's mouth as the quartermaster wrapped his lips around Bond's tongue and began to lasciviously fellate it. Q felt Bond spread his blanket over both their laps and he smirked in victory. He was getting Commander Bond hard.

Flush with his new-found power, Q risked a hand down the front of James' trousers. Sure enough, the agent was semi-hard. Q leaned back and pulled Bond to him with a hand behind his head. James leaned in, not wanting to break the contact and gasped when Q rolled his tongue around the tip of his own, circling it as he would the head of his cock.

Q felt his own cock twitch as he pulled moan after moan from his beautiful spy. Everything else didn't matter: the plane, the other passengers, his own life. All that existed for Q was to hear James whimper and beg for Q's touch, for his tongue, for his heat. Q didn't care if death took him now. This kiss was completely worth it.

Of course, it was then that the Triad member had attempted to kill them both.


	36. Danger in the Sky

A rough hand ripped Bond away from Q. The agent turned and all he saw was a fist in his face. The aeroplane shook violently, throwing the attacker off balance forward into Bond and Bond shoved back. He stumbled backward into a Chinese passenger who cried out in surprise. Q was in shock for a moment and sat pressed into his seat. Bond stood up, his lip split and swollen and lunged for the mafia hired gun. He grabbed him by the lapels and head-butted him, dazing the killer. Bond and Q's seats were located toward the rear of first class and through brute strength, Bond pulled the man backward toward the flight attendant station between first class and second.

Terrified flight attendants looked on helplessly as Bond and the assassin exchanged blows: a swing to the head missed its mark as Bond ducked under and followed with his own uppercut connecting with the killer's jaw. The man's head snapped back and he shook it to clear it. Bond connected with two more jabs to the head and the hired gun connected with his own blow to Bond's body, just under his liver. Bond attempted to keep him at a distance as his arms were longer. The killer seemed to know this and tried to get under Bond's blows to plant his fists into Bond's torso. He was heavier than Bond by three stone and almost four inches taller, but since he had the shorter arm span, he had to keep his fight close. If he kept this fight up, Bond couldn't win with mere blows to the head. Any strikes Bond managed to place along the man's torso didn't seem to phase the killer at all. Bond would have to get creative.

The assassin stuck to his plan. He came back at Bond with a few low blows tight and close to his body and Bond doubled over with each new strike. He stumbled back a step or two and the plane shuddered again, causing him to lose even more ground. He clutched the work counter in order to keep his feet and searched for anything that would help him defeat the Triad member.

The monster came after him intending another blow to Bond's body, but Bond quickly opened the door to the steel towel warmer that was just in front of him and the man rammed his hand right into it. He cried out in pain, throwing his head back and Bond punched him in the throat, causing him to choke and stagger back. Bond opened one of the panels at random and wrapped stainless steel cutlery spilled onto the floor as the plane dipped violently. The assassin took the opportunity to run full tilt at Bond and tackled him to the ground with a body blow. The killer on top of him with his meaty hands wrapped around his throat, Bond searched blindly for one of the wrapped utensils. His hands shot out, searching until he could bear no more and was forced to draw them back to the killer's hands so that he could try and catch his breath. The edges of his vision were beginning to blur.

Suddenly there was a resounding metallic hollow sound and the assassin's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed on Bond. James looked up and saw a very pale and panicked Q standing above him, a dented metal coffee carafe clutched in both his hands. He smiled gratefully at Q and the quartermaster drew a long ragged breath. The flight attendant who had earlier helped Q was at his side. She looked to Bond who was rolling the heavy man off of him and then to Q, who was panting but flush with triumph.

"Who is this man?" asked the flight attendant. "Why did he attack you?"

James looked at Q as he brushed himself off.

Q smiled at Bond and replied to the flight attendant coolly with a shrug: "Homophobic, I guess."


	37. Through the Storm

Q attempted to clean Bond's cut lip with the supplies from a first aid kit the airline supplied while Bond sipped a martini. "Hold still, Bond," said Q annoyed.

"I am," said Bond, "It's the plane that keeps moving."

"So I noticed," Q muttered under clenched teeth. The turbulence had lessened, but he could still feel the vibrations from small pockets of it as they flew along. Now that the danger was over, the air marshal had taken custody of the Triad assassin's unconscious form, and Q's adrenaline stopped flowing, Q was starting to feel a bit shaken from the experience and rather exhausted from all the stress the day had held. He wished he could sleep again, but he felt too keyed up. God, it was wretched.

Bond gave his quartermaster an appraising side glance. "Alright?" he asked.

Q said nothing. Of course he wasn't alright. They were still flying in a fucking plane, weren't they? Q took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He dabbed an alcohol swab to the edge of Bond's lip carefully, concentrating with all of his might on his task. Bond jerked a bit at the stinging cold touch, but braved it out. "You really don't have to do this," said James.

"Yes, I do," said Q firmly. He needed the distraction. He needed to take care of James. He needed the man's arms around him and his kisses in his hair again because if this plane shook one more fucking time he was going to rip out everyone's throats and force Bond to land the goddamn thing wherever he could.

"Breathe, Q," said Bond softly.

"Are we back to that again?" asked Q.

"No need to get snotty, Q," said Bond. "I am just trying to help."

"I would prefer it if you didn't help and just stopped talking so I could clean this cut," said Q tersely.

Bond said nothing further. Q finished his task, utilizing some liquid bandage that happened to be in the kit. Useful stuff that.

Once he had completed his ministrations, Q cleaned up the mess and had the attendant take it away. He sat back into his seat, closed his eyes, and tried not to panic.

"I thought you were wonderful, by the way," said Bond in his ear and he kissed him softly on the cheek.

Q turned to him and Bond's heart broke as his quartermaster's eyes held a deep sadness. "I want to go home," he said.


	38. Softly Drifting

"I know you do, love," said Bond. "I want to go home too."

"Yes," said Q. "I expect they'll give us both medals for this." Q was being serious. Sardonic, but serious.

"High marks, at any rate," said Bond. He was far too used to field work to delude himself into thinking that this mission was any more important than any other that they sent him on. Q didn't have the field experience that Bond did. He was a boffin, for God's sake. He was used to his office, beaker of tea, and computer screen. Bond could see Q was holding tight onto himself about all this. He was trying to be brave for James. It was completely unnecessary, of course. After a minute, Bond asked, "Do you want a medal for this?"

Q looked at him in shocked surprise. "Bloody hell, Bond! If they don't give me at least a raise in pay for all I've been through, there'll be hell to pay!"

Bond chuckled. A vengeful Q could be the most destructive force that MI6 would ever face. "You really could destroy worlds, couldn't you?" he asked.

"I'm loathe to admit it," began Q, "but I really could." He raised his head and regarded Bond earnestly. "I won't though. But I could."

"Do you have any idea how sexy that is?" asked Bond.

A small smile crept across Q's face at that. "James Bond," he said teasingly, "Are you flirting with your quartermaster?"

James gave Q a wide grin. "Maybe," he said. Q laughed. "Your good humor is returning," Bond observed, "That's a good sign."

"I suppose," said Q.

Bond gently carded a hand through his hair. "Of course it helps that the turbulence has gone," Bond said. Q hummed his assent and closed his eyes, enjoying Bond's touch. "And there's good news too: We'll be touching down in another hour or so."

"Oh thank God," said Q.

Bond reached over and cradled Q to his chest. He sank limply into the caressing hands and breathed calmly. "We'll be alright, Geoffrey," Bond murmured into the quartermaster's hair. Q hoped Bond was right. Istanbul better be a cake walk or Q was in fear of losing his mind.


	39. Istanbul

Q splashed water on his face in the men's toilet at the Istanbul airport. The sounds of his breathing and the water splashing echoed off the tiles. Q's glasses rested on the edge of the sink and he leaned in close to the mirror to evaluate his face. He still felt a bit green around the gills. The strain of the day was showing. Water dripped from his chin as he closed his eyes and breathed.

Bond was flawless as always. The agent held him closely when the plane landed. There was no turbulence and it was as smooth a landing as to be expected, but the whole feeling of being up in the air surrounded by metal and nothingness was physically repellent to Q. He took another deep breath.

They both had de-boarded the plane and gone to their next gate. They remained as aloof toward one another as possible. It made Q ache to see Bond but not be able to touch. In a fleeting thought he wondered if James felt the same. Nothing would be more natural to Q to be holding James' hand as they moved across the concourse. But of course, it couldn't happen. After sitting across the gate from Bond, Q signaled that he was going to the toilets. Not that he needed to: Bond had been watching Q carefully ever since he sat. Q felt flattered at this thought and smiled a bit at his reflection in the mirror.

A toilet flushed behind him and a balding man with olive skin came to the sinks. He washed his hands, smiling curtly at Q, dried them, and departed. The man's footsteps echoed off the tiles as he left.

Despite now being alone in the lavatory, Q's head was pounding. He splashed his face again and dried off with a paper towel.

The only warning Q got was the sound of the man's footsteps on the tile before the he pushed him against the wall, crushing his throat with his forearm. It was the same man who just washed his hands and left!

Q's knee came up reflexively, catching his attacker's abdomen. The man let out a gasp of air and doubled over a bit, releasing his hold on Q's throat. Without his glasses, Q couldn't see much clearly, but he could tell the man came back up with something in his hand. Q grabbed the man's hand slamming it into the edge of one of the sinks and the object came out of the attacker's grasp. Q landed a punch to his throat but it wasn't clean. The man coughed once and retaliated with a kick to Q's groin. Q fell to the floor in agony.

His attacker was back on him in seconds, fingers crushing his throat as he demanded: "Where is it?"

Q coughed and sputtered. Surely this wasn't another Triad member? "Where is it?!" the man shouted and slammed Q's head against the floor.

Q mustered all the strength he had and rolled them over, hooking his legs around the assassin to gain leverage. His gambit only worked part-way as Q's thin frame, though flexible, did not have the heft to haul his attacker up and off of him. The struggled on the floor on their sides, the man's grasp tight around Q's throat. He stopped asking questions. That was a bad sign. A very bad sign.

When an attacker stops asking questions about the location of a certain item of interest, a good agent knew that the attacker was past the point of negotiations. A good agent knew that any attacker who stopped asking questions was just going to kill you and search your body for their prize.

It was at that moment that Q was certain that he was going to die.


	40. Struggling

Q didn't want to die and Bond wasn't going to help him here. As his attacker squeezed his airway, Q had a moment of clarity. It was as if he knew what to do all along.

Q put a thumb into the man's right eye and punched his head with his left. He was naturally right-handed, so the blows weren't as powerful, but as he was currently lying on his right side, some things couldn't be helped. The assassin grunted and shouted at the counter-attack, but Q remained unshaken. He kept hitting and hitting him and gouging the man's eye with all his might until he felt a soft *pop* under his right thumb and the attacker let out a scream of unbelievable pain. Reflexively, the man clutched at his own face and began to writhe on the floor.

Released from the death grip, Q got to his feet, donned his glasses and looked over to see the attacker's knife in the sink. Without thinking, he grabbed it and plunged it to the hilt into the man's chest.

"Consider it a mercy," he muttered to the stilled form.

Panting, he picked up the body and dragged it to the farthest corner stall, sat him upon the toilet and closed the door. Q went to the mirror and inspected his appearance. There was blood on the side of his face and his hands, which he washed off easily. His left hand was pretty banged up, but nothing was broken. He let it sit under the cold tap for a minute before wrapping it up in towels and making his way to the exit. The assassin had pulled the janitor's cord across the open entrance which is why they had not been disturbed, but someone had heard the screaming and there were police on the way; Q could see them. He thought quickly and ran for the officers.

"Please help! There's a madman with a knife in the lavatory! He crushed my hand and then plucked out his own eye! He's insane! You have to stop him! I pulled the janitor's cord so no one else would enter, but who's to say if he won't leave and run amok! Please help!" Q gave the officers a panicked look and quietly thanked the Maker that his youthful good looks and his satchel made him appear as an exchange student studying abroad.

The police left him quickly and ran for the toilets. Q moved off toward his gate, stopping only to purchase a small bag of cut fresh fruit from a shop. He placed it on his left hand and audibly sighed at the relief.

An announcement came over the airport intercom system: "We are now boarding first class passengers aboard flight 1022 bound for Heathrow, London, England. Will all first class passengers please report to gate G3 at this time for boarding."

Q walked quickly to the gate and boarded the plane. Bond stood to let him into his window seat. "I thought you weren't going to make it," said James.

"I almost didn't," said Q and sat heavily.

"Everything alright?" Bond asked, curious.

"Had a bit of a struggle, but I'm fine now," said Q. He didn't know why he didn't tell Bond about his victory over his attacker. Q supposed that it was just something he needed to keep to himself. Sort of a personal victory. One thing though: victory was exhausting.


	41. Flying Home

Q opened the fruit bag once they were in the air. He was so exhausted from this whole experience, he was past caring about the take off. He flinched a bit when the plane left the ground, but the pain in his hand was providing him with an adequate distraction. Fortunately, Bond was seated on his right so that if the agent ever felt the need to take his hand, it would be the uninjured one he would clasp. Unfortunately, the agent hadn't gone blind in the short time that they had been parted in Istanbul.

"What happened to your hand," queried Bond, "Or shouldn't I ask?"

Q decided not to go into detail. It wasn't important. He gave the spy a half-grin and looked at him sideways over his glasses. "You should see the other fellow," he said.

Bond raised an eyebrow and sat back in his seat. Q could tell from the expression on his face that he was proud. And impressed. Q warmed to the thought of impressing the great James Bond, 007, of Her Majesty's Secret Service. The only thought that worried Q was that he didn't actually have a license to kill like Bond did. But then, what happened in that toilet wasn't an assassination. It was self-defense. That Triad agent (or whomever he was working for) would have never stopped until Q was dead. He had to kill him first. Q was only thankful that he didn't have the chip on him.

Oh dear... But if they were sending assassins after him... That meant that he was now on the Triad's radar. He should tell Bond about the attack. The agent had a right to know that he had been compromised. Q looked at Bond. He had set his head back in his chair and appeared to be asleep. This part of the journey was only four hours, but Q supposed that this was the first time in the last 20 hours that the agent had a moment to actually rest his head.

Q took the opportunity to gaze upon the trained killer. He seemed like a statue, all force and power, and Q recalled when Bond had fallen asleep on his hotel bed after he had checked the chip. Power. Even when he was asleep. Jesus. Bond's words came back to him: "Do you have any idea how sexy that is?" Q smiled. Bond liked him for his mind. Q liked Bond for his powerful nature. He was a tamed lion. Q wanted so badly to kiss him.

Q raised the armrest between them and reached gently behind Bond's head. The agent's eyes snapped open and he glanced at Q. "Come here," whispered Q. Q turned toward Bond a bit and Bond leaned over and allowed himself to be cradled. Q buried his nose in Bond's hair and stroked softly at his temple. He felt Bond wrap his strong arms around his frame and Q leaned back a bit to afford them both room. Q placed a quiet kiss to James' hair and heard the spy moan softly in response. "Are you alright?" Q asked Bond. Bond mumbled an assent and Q could tell that he was attempting to sleep again.

Q felt Bond's chest slowly rise and fall as he breathed. He continued to stroke his hair and place arbitrary kisses along his scalp. This felt so fucking right. It was as if this was how it was meant to be all along. Q marveled at how amazing this 'tame lion' was; all brawn, a bit of brains, completely trusting of him, and in his arms.

He wanted this to last. He wanted to tell Bond everything about himself. He wanted this man to understand him so completely that James would know him better than he knew himself. He wanted to see Bond with the morning light on his skin. He wanted to know how he liked his coffee. He wanted to know why he chose to become an agent. He wanted to know what made Bond laugh. Q wanted to make Bond laugh every day. He wanted to be there when he was defeated and down. He wanted to feel his kiss on his neck in the morning. He wanted to hear his voice in the dark before sleep took him.

Q did what he could to hold back the sob that was growing in his chest. Instead of weeping, he placed another reverent kiss to the sleeping agent's head and prayed that the next four hours would last forever.


	42. Distress

"Well I never!"

Q heard the exclamation through a sleep-drowsy brain. He opened his eyes to find an old woman was glaring down at them disapprovingly. Q sighed and closed his eyes again. They had another two hours in the flight to go and they had both drifted off to sleep, Q still cradling Bond. Q couldn't tell if the woman's comment had roused the commander, but as Bond didn't move a muscle and there was no change in his breathing, Q assumed that either the agent was completely knocked out, or he chose to ignore the old woman's obvious objection to two grown men sleeping peacefully together.

It would have been fine. Q could have continued his rest having been only momentarily disturbed. But the old lady had to take it a step farther. She had to stick her nose in. "You know you're going to hell, don't you?"

Q opened his eyes again and gazed upon the self-righteous bitch. "And so are you," said Q. The woman looked shocked for a moment and Q continued quickly: "For judging me. According to your own religion, God is man's only true judge. So why don't you piss off and let the big guy sort out the rest of us, yeah?" The woman reacted as though Q slapped her across the face with her own bible. She huffed and disappeared toward the forward part of first class.

James tilted up his head and placed a small kiss to Q's neck. "My hero," he murmured.

Q smiled. "I wasn't sure you were awake," he said.

"Mmmnngh," said James.

"I expect you really don't have to deal with that sort of thing all that much," said Q, referring to the old woman's intolerance. "That's the beauty of heterosexuality, I suppose."

"I do upon occasion," said James, half mumbling the words. "It's just that this is the first time with you."

"So..." said Q awkwardly, "There have been past lovers, then. Not just missions."

"Two," said James, "You're the third." He placed another small kiss to Q's neck. "Third time's the charm."

"What does that mean?" asked Q. He was actually nervous about Bond's answer. He wanted to be special to the man, but he didn't want to crowd his life. Q didn't care if Bond rejected him because of their respective jobs, that he could understand as a purely clinical and practical decision. What he was terrified of was being rejected by Bond for himself.

"It means," said Bond, snuggling further into Q's arms and burying his nose in the man's neck, "that I could really get used to this."


	43. The Thrill of Flying

Q pulled Bond's face up and placed a searing kiss to his mouth. Bond responded eagerly, pushing at Q's lips with his tongue and plunging it deep inside once Q opened up. Q ran his hands up and down Bond's chest and back, through his hair and finally cupped his face. Heat spread to Q's groin as the kiss continued and became blisteringly hot. Flashes of their earlier dalliance in the toilet sparked through Q's mind as Bond's right hand traveled lower down Q's abdomen.

Q was anticipating Bond's warm hand over his building erection when James suddenly pulled away. Q gave a whimper of surprise at the sudden lack of hot secret agent all over him. Bond gave him a wink and got up out of his seat. He was gone for only a moment, but Q was confused. When he returned, he had two pillows and two blankets with him. Bond placed both pillows comfortably behind Q's head and back and threw both blankets over the two of them, resuming his former position of being cradled by his quartermaster. Bond's right arm swung across Q and angled the blanket so that when they were both relaxed, the area the blanket covered over Q's groin was propped up, shielding his movements from view.

"James Bond, you bloody fucking genius," murmured Q into James' hair as the man unzipped his trousers. Q was hard in an instant at the warm touch. Bond gently stroked him as they continued kissing. The kisses were gentle compared to the first, but still lingering, smoldering. Each new connection of their mouths was like its own glowing ember sparking to life and raising the temperature in Q's body. Bond's stroke on Q's hardened cock could have stood some lubricant, but Q wasn't about to argue. He was being jerked off in public by James Bond. Jesus.

Q broke their kissing long enough to interject: "Correction: James Bond, you utter horny bastard."

Bond gave Q an evil grin and asked, "The man across the aisle. Is he still fast asleep?"

"Yes. Why?"

Bond ignored Q's question. All he said to him was: "Let me know if anyone's coming along the aisle." And he ducked his head under the blanket.

Q felt Bond's mouth on his cock immediately and had to clap a hand over his mouth to prevent from shouting out loud in surprise. He felt the moist heat envelop his prick, the suction of the off-stroke, the swirl of a tongue around the head. It was all Q could do to remember to breathe. He looked around in a panic. Should they be caught, they could be arrested for lewd and lascivious acts in public. NOT something one wanted on one's CV. And what Bond was doing to his dick was very lewd and more than a little lascivious.

A tongue flicked his frenulum. Q put his fist against his mouth to prevent himself from gasping aloud. Anyone who looked at them now could clearly tell what was going on beneath the blankets. It was somehow all the more outrageously enjoyable for Q not to be able to see Bond suck him off. And the threat of getting caught just made things all the more adrenaline-fueled. So far, they were safe. And it seemed that they would be because Q was awfully close to the tipping point.

"J-James," Q whispered to the bobbing head below the blanket. Bond froze in place, waiting. "No one's coming, but I'm close. So fucking close... please..."

James gave a low hum of pleasure at the good news and Q lost it. He came in several bursts, his hips thrusting upward toward the warm wet of James' mouth. Q pressed his fist tightly against his mouth and his other hand caressed James' head through the blankets. Q couldn't help himself. He had to let Bond know how insane he had made him. "J-James... Ah... God... James," Q said, as loud as he dared.

Q felt Bond lick him clean. Eventually Bond's head rose above the blankets. He wore a satisfied smile and pressed his mouth to Q. Tasting himself on Bond, Q was lost in a post-cum haze. "You are a very bad man," panted Q, his head thrown back, his eyes shut.

Bond nibbled on Q's neck and mumbled: "And that would be all your fault, Quartermaster."


	44. Journey's End

Q rearranged himself and leaned on Bond for a change. James' strong arms wrapped protectively around him and he fell asleep to the sound of Bond's heartbeat. He awakened to Bond propping him up and telling him to buckle his safety belt. They were landing. When he heard the news, his drowsiness vanished and he felt a now familiar clutch at his chest. This had become the worst bit for Q. He hated flying in general, but the landings had become loathsome things. One never really knew the distance to the ground, especially at night. Fortunately, it was mid-afternoon, but it was pouring rain and they were landing in London. Crosswinds tore at the wings as the pilot struggled to correct his level. The image out Q's window was dashed with water and it terrified him more than a bit.

The standard things kept happening: the request to fasten safety belts and put up trays, the clean-up in the cabin, the God-awful noise of the landing gear descending. The normalcy of the behavior of the flight attendants in the face of such an obviously worrying thing like a plane shaking itself apart in impossible weather would have been unbearable had not Q been able to rely on Bond. He felt the man's hand on the back of his neck, massaging gently and he regarded him, giving him a fond smile. He really was going to be alright. Q felt more balanced than the plane was. It tipped from side to side a bit as it descended. Q held Bond's gaze, his eyes sneaking glances to pour over the man's frame.

Bond returned Q's stare coolly, his eyes running up and down just as Q's did to him. It seemed that Bond was mapping out a strategy to find a private location at which to strip Q naked and where he could have his wicked way with him -- or so it seemed. Q couldn't have been more pleased. It was better than he could have hoped for; it represented a possible future with Bond -- or at the very least, more outrageous sex. He knew he would always see him at work, but to think that there would be a further element to his relationship with Bond was almost too good to be true. Bond was giving him every indication of his interest. Q only hoped he wasn't misreading him.

The plane twisted violently once more before all three wheels hit the tarmac at once with a shuddering thud. Spontaneous applause rose from the cabin as the engines reversed. "Thank you, Bond," said Q, all pride and pretense gone. They had been through too much.

Bond leaned over and kissed Q gently. Q cupped his face to hold the kiss. This still might be his last moment with James. Until they had a chance to talk, Q couldn't be certain. This made Q want to kiss Bond harder, but the seat belt tone sounded and everyone was out of their seats and gathering their belongings. Bond broke the kiss and gave Q a slow cock-eyed grin. "You're welcome, love," he said, "Any time."

They stood and gathered their own belongings. Bond paused and handed something to Q. He made it look as if they were simply brushing hands, but Q felt the small hard square in his palm and glanced at Bond curiously. Bond merely winked and motioned for Q to go first off the plane.

Q carried the chip surreptitiously in a hand that held the strap on his satchel and marched through the concourse following all the signs for transport. Bond was behind him somewhere no doubt monitoring the surrounding crowd and keeping an eye on Q all at once. Just because they were in London didn't mean that there wasn't possible treachery lurking in the shadows. Q kept as close to the center of the concourse as he could and moved along quickly without seeming to hurry. His long legs carried him easily past customs officials who gave a cursory glance at his passport and the face before them. Soon enough, he stood in the open air and damp of Heathrow's international gate and signaled to a cab.

He directed the cabbie to the pre-determined address and paid his fare. He waited under a dripping overhang, cursing the rain, but grateful to have the hateful business of flying over with. Soon enough a silver Aston Martin pulled up, engine roaring. The handsome man behind the wheel gestured for him to get in. Q buckled up and saw Bond grinning out of the corner of his eye. Of course... the agent was in his element now. And Q truly had nothing to fear. They were in the home stretch.


	45. Heading Home

The engine roared and they were off. Bond navigated London's streets like he was traveling through water. Everything in that car was fluid motion -- except for the shock-absorption. One pothole too many went by and Q said, "Why do you like this car again?" Bond gave him a sideways dirty look, but said nothing. Q grinned. "All I'm saying," continued Q, "is that they make other vehicles with better suspension these days."

"Funny how when you're not panicking over being thousands of feet in the air you suddenly become an obnoxious prick," said Bond. Q grinned again.

They turned down a street Q wasn't expecting and Bond parked the car, engine running, and got out. He opened up a garage door ahead of them and walked back to the car. He parked the car inside the garage and shut off the engine. Q remained silent through all this, but once the car was stopped, he couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "Where the hell are we going, Bond?"

"Upstairs," said Bond.

"Why? What's upstairs?" said Q. He wanted to be rid of the chip. It was beginning to annoy him that the thing was still in his possession when they were so close to turning it in. He wanted to show it to M and tell him where he could stick the bloody thing. 

"My place," said Bond. "Well... one of them, anyway." Bond got out of the car and Q followed him to a lift in the corner of the garage.

"Your place?" said Q. "Bond, let's just get this over with. M wants the chip as soon as humanly possible. Any delay and he'll be likely to have a recon team out looking for us. He knows our plane landed. He'll be waiting for us to come in and report."

"And we will," said Bond. "It's not our fault if we had to shake off a final tail." He winked at Q and punched the button that took them up to the top floor.

"Oh..." said Q, the subterfuge slowly becoming a plausible possibility in his mind.

"And besides," said Bond. "You have yet to tell me how you hurt your hand."

"It's nothing," said Q.

"Like hell," said Bond. Bond lifted up the gate to the lift and walked into his open air flat. Q dropped his bag by the lift, pocketing the chip, and looked around.

The flat consisted of a kitchen, sitting area, and bedroom all in one room with en suite bathroom; the walls and floor were concrete, but not rough. The ceiling showed all the exposed beams and air vents. The decor was spartan: one couch, one chair, telly, bed in the corner against the wall. What dominated the room were the windows. Only one side of the room had them and they ran the full fifteen feet, floor to ceiling, wall to wall. The rest of London sprawled beneath them, their nearest neighbor was two storeys too short to look in. Bond dumped his bag and went to Q, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Bond took Q's left hand in his and looked at it. "That's more than just typing in too much code, Q," he said and kissed him on the neck.

Q felt a shiver run down his spine and he turned to Bond and kissed him, heat racing to his groin. He was suddenly filled with extreme need. He had never wanted Bond so badly in his life.


	46. Homecoming

"Oh fuck, James," moaned Q as Bond sucked hard on his collarbone. They didn't have much time together, despite Bond's attempts at stealing this time from the company. Q had a feeling that all their encounters would be like this and he felt a pang of regret go through him. It wasn't fair. He didn't want to rush through this with Bond. He wanted all of it to last.

"Geoffrey," said Bond softly, seeking Q's attention.

"Hmm?" said Q.

"Stop thinking for five bloody seconds," said Bond. The agent stared hard at his quartermaster, blue eyes glinting in the afternoon light. "I want you here with me, not off in your mind somewhere where I can't reach you," said James, "Stay here. Right here with me. Alright?" James trailed kisses over Q's jaw and down his neck.

Q nodded. He had been analyzing this whole relationship too hard. It wasn't any kind of a real relationship anyway. It could never be. He should just take what he could get and enjoy it. He knew that with espionage, alone is best. For both of them. And when they could be together, they would.

"You're doing it again," said Bond.

Q sighed. He redoubled his efforts to be present in the here and now for James. To prove his focus, Q cupped Bond's face and kissed him soundly, his tongue dipping into the agent's mouth, tasting him. Bond moaned in response, his hands caressing Q's frame.

Bond guided them toward the bed. He sat upon it as Q climbed over him, straddling his thighs. Their kisses lingered and wave after wave of heat rolled through Q as he felt Bond's hands everywhere: along his back, over his arse, down his thighs, brushing his crotch, gliding up his chest, teasing his nipples. It was sensory overload and Q's erection was building fast.

"Let me suck you off, James," panted Q. "I feel I owe you." James moaned his pleasure at the idea and Q got off his lap so that they could remove their clothing. Their passion and the crunch in time caused them to disrobe in moments and soon they were standing there, staring at each other in the nude in broad daylight.

Bond was like a fucking statue, prick standing out from his body. Q couldn't wait to taste him there.

James' eyes were blown wide with desire as he reached out for Q. "Please," he said softly.

It was all he had to say.


	47. Comfort

Sex with James Bond was very sensual this time around. He took his time, moved slowly. Even though they both knew they were under the gun as far as time was concerned, he acted as if they had all the time in the world.

Bond lay on his back under the duvet, his hands caught in Q's curls as the man's mouth moved up and down on his engorged cock. Q ran his tongue on the underside of the shaft and flicked it across Bond's frenulum, causing the man to undulate his hips reflexively. "Let me hear you, James," Q had said before he flipped the duvet over his head and kissed his way down to Bond's gorgeous prick. There was something erotic as fuck about not being able to see your partner suck you off. Q shouldn't have to be the only one well-versed in the joys of the unseen blow job.

"Oh God, Geoffrey," said James, "So fucking good... shit." Q loved being able to make Bond moan like that; the sensation of power went straight to Q's cock. He touched himself to alleviate some of the pressure and hummed around James' prick at his own touch. Bond reacted with a loud moan and a slight thrust of his hips.

"Come up here," said Bond, "I want to taste you." Q did as he was bid, coming off of Bond's dick with a wet pop. He climbed slowly up the man, letting Bond's erection rub erotically along his torso until their lips met one another. Their senses reeled with the taste of salt, saliva, and sex. Saliva-slicked pricks rubbed against one another. It was delicious.

Bond reached over for a bottle of lube and prepared Q's hole. "I want you to ride me, Q" he whispered. "Will you do that for me?"

"Oh God, yes, James," said Q, enjoying the feel of one solid finger pushing its way into his heat. He placed his mouth over Bond's and began to fellate his tongue as he did his dick moments before. Bond matched the slow rhythm with his finger and soon was inserting a second. Q moaned with the pressure and slight burn, but he wanted this just as much as James did.

This wasn't like Hong Kong at all. This wasn't tension relief. This wasn't emotional comfort. It was broad daylight and they were making time to fuck because they wanted to fuck -- they needed to fuck -- each other. "Only you, James," gasped Q as the agent pulled his fingers out, lubed up his prick and Q aligned himself on top of the man.

Q eased himself slowly down onto Bond and they shut their eyes tight, enjoying the sensation. Bond felt Q's tight heat; Q was enthralled with the feeling of becoming so full. As soon as Bond was balls-deep and Q had taken time to adjust, Q locked eyes with Bond and pulled off of him slowly.

Q's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he tilted his head backward, extending his already lean, long form. He felt a strong hand caress down his torso from his neck to his prick. James kept his knees bent and Q gripped Bond's thighs near his knees. Bond held Q by the waist, still occasionally brushing a hand over the man's cock, causing him to tighten up around James' prick.

They spent many minutes like that until James couldn't stand it: he began pushing himself up into Q, thrusting deeper into him. Gripping his hips tight, Bond let his own pelvis snap up, up, up into his precious quartermaster, fucking him thoroughly upward until Q cried out and began to pump a fist over his own throbbing cock.

They came within seconds of one another: Bond buried deep inside Q, Q cumming all over his hand and James' abdomen. Bond collapsed to the mattress, Q to Bond's chest. And once again, Q did not give a damn about getting completely covered in his own spunk. Fucking James Bond was worth it. It was worth everything.


	48. Comeuppance

Three hours later, Q awoke with a start. He was still in Bond's bed, the agent sleeping beside him. Q rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rolled over, facing away from Bond, put on his glasses and took in the view of the city. The sun was setting. A warm arm wrapped around his chest and held him close. Q felt a warm kiss to the back of his neck as Bond pressed the length of himself against Q and hummed against his skin. Distantly, Q's mobile phone was ringing.

"What time is it?" Q asked, his heart beating faster.

"Don't worry, Q," said Bond, his voice muffled against Q's back. He could feel the man's stubble against the skin between his shoulder blades and the heat of his breath as he spoke. "It's just M trying to figure out where we are. We'll be in. Relax. It's not as if the chip is going anywhere. It can do no harm where it is." The agent took off Q's glasses and placed them on a high shelf that ran above the bed.

"But, Bond..." began Q hopelessly. He knew arguing with Bond would get no result. Not because being back to work in a timely fashion wasn't the right thing to do and Bond would physically prevent him from leaving, but more because once he returned to touching and kissing Q, Bond's hand had been making small circles against his chest and had now drifted toward his abdomen. Needless to say, Q was done for. There was no way he would want to leave right away if Bond touched his... Oh God.

Q's eyes rolled back and he pressed his head backward toward Bond's shoulder as James kissed his neck. His stroke was light and soft, teasing and sensual, enough to make Q moan and beg for more friction and heat. Q thrust his hips against James' hand with a needy whine. "More... please..." said Q. Q found Bond's mouth and let his tongue trace Bond's lips. Eventually Bond opened his mouth and entwined his tongue around Q's.

Q could feel Bond getting hard and wondered how long they could hold off the Home Office and headquarters before there was a military recon team sent in to recover the chip. Q didn't think they would be left alone for the three days he knew he wanted to absolutely wreck this man in bed. Food, water, the occasional shower, and a whole lot of fucking James Bond through the mattress (and vice versa) was all Q wanted from life at this point. And not necessarily in that order.

Q placed his left thigh up and back over Bond's, allowing his cock easier access to his entrance. Warm hardness of James' dick felt so fucking amazing. Q considered that five days ago he would have never thought this scenario possible. Now, he couldn't see anything else happening. He wanted this for always. Every damn night. The only question that still bothered Q was: what did James want?

The man had made it clear to Q that he wanted him sexually. And it was also clear that he would stand by him as a member of a team as far as work was concerned. But he had also made it clear that as agents they were better off alone so that they would't have any exposed weaknesses. Where Q's job was concerned, that exposed weakness was a minimal problem. There weren't too many people that knew that he was MI6 -- hell, even his own mother had no idea. But for Bond, things were different. He was a double-oh. That mean that he was a target for SPECTRE and any other number of anti-British organizations. Q couldn't bear the thought of James being in harm's way, but that's how he lived his life. Was there room for Q there too? Would there ever be?

He had to have these questions answered before they went in. He had to know how to behave, what to allow himself. And if this was a relationship, should they inform M? Or should they just get on with the business of guarding the nation? Without Bond's input in this, it was impossible to know how to proceed. He loved what they were doing, but could it continue? Should it?

There was nothing for it. Q broke their kiss. "What is this, Bond?" he asked softly. "Please. I have to know."


	49. Gravity

"This is me," said Bond, kissing Q softly on the neck as he spoke, "caring for you."

"What I mean is," said Q, "what do we do when we come back in? How do we behave? As if this never happened? And does it end there? Or do we continue to clandestinely meet? What is this? How do we proceed?"

"Are you thinking of bringing me home for Easter dinner or something?" asked Bond.

Q sighed. "I know I sound like a worried teenage girl," he said, "but seriously... for work."

Bond removed his hand from Q's prick and placed it flat and warm against his stomach. The agent thought a moment. "What we do behind closed doors is no one else's business, Geoffrey," said Bond.

"But we work for the British Secret Service, Bond," said Q, "It's their business to know everything. Believe me, I write some of their better surveillance programming."

Bond rubbed his bearded mouth gently over Q's skin, which Q took to serve two purposes: One, to excite the both of them physically; and two, to give James time to think. Q let him have his time and closed his eyes at the sensation. Finally Bond said, "It's still none of their bloody business. If we tell no one and we don't interact at work, keeping this to our own respective flats, I really don't see how it could become a problem."

"It might in the future," said Q. "If anyone asks me, I will tell them the truth, Bond." He turned his head to look into James' eyes and said, "Even if it gets us both sacked." Bond held his gaze steadily. "I mean it," continued Q, "I will not deny anyone this information. I will not hide this truth from anyone."

"And what truth would that be?" asked Bond. "That we've shagged?" He was so nonchalant about it all. As if it really didn't matter to him.

Q felt sick, but went ahead anyway. No looking back now. "No," he said, swallowing hard, "The truth that I care for you... deeply. The truth that I care for you... more than I should. More than I've a right to, I suppose."

To his credit, Bond's gaze never shifted from Q's. "I see," was all he said.

"I suppose you do now," said Q softly, turning away and laying his head back down against the pillow.

"I'm so sorry, Q," said Bond. "I never meant for it---" He never finished the sentence.

"I know why you never meant it," said Q, "What I don't understand is how I could have allowed myself to let you get to me." He bit back tears and continued: "I hate this. Once again -- for the seven-millionth time in four days -- I feel so fucking weak. How could I have been so stupid?"

"I don't see you as weak, Q," said Bond, softly carding through his hair. "Matter of fact, you're probably one of the bravest men I've had the privilege to know."


	50. Honesty

"What?" asked Q, stunned. "You work with some of the bravest--"

"And I work with you," said Bond, "And from what you've demonstrated to me in the past four days, I sincerely hope I will continue to work with you."

"Don't patronize me, Bond," said Q defensively.

"And there's that famous pride again," said Bond. James turned Q around to face him and held him close, pressing their foreheads together and looking into his eyes. "Listen to me, Geoffrey. I knew when I met you that you had brains. What I wasn't so sure of is whether or not you had the guts for this job. And you've proven to me time and time again that you not only have the guts, but you've got the heart and the determination to see a mission through. You are cool under pressure. You keep your head -- even when the plan has gone tits up. You had faith in me. You've been brave. Hell, you've even fought someone off." Here Bond held up Q's left hand between them. "I don't know how you managed it, but you've walked this mission with me step by bloody step and I couldn't be more proud or honored to stand by you." Bond took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Q was too stunned to speak.

"So now you say you care for me more than you should," said Bond. "Well, perhaps that's the difference between us that I had suspected was there. Perhaps that's what I picked up on in the National Gallery that day, only I thought it was a lack of guts. Instead what it was was an over-abundance of compassion. A thing like that could easily get an agent in the field killed. Compassion is not part of the skill set you need in order to survive out there, to pull that trigger. You cannot have compassion for your target. It's the kiss of death for your career in espionage if you do -- if not for your life. But your compassion came through over me, a colleague, a teammate. That I can understand. You care for me? You don't want to see me harmed? Yeah?" Q nodded, his eyes welling up. "Right then. And I suppose you always will. And that's alright. There's no sin in it for you. But you need to understand that I don't have that kind of compassion rolling around in me. It can't exist. It would get me killed."

He paused. Q had tears coming down his face. Bond kissed him softly. Q said, "That's not true, James." Bond froze. Q continued: "You do have compassion or you wouldn't have kissed me in the first place. I had suspected that you had done it in order to shock me into being quiet, but now I see that, underneath it all, you were simply at a loss as to how to help me best. So... you do have compassion, Commander James Bond. You just have no idea how to use it. You haven't any practice at it. That's all." Q smiled sadly at Bond.

Bond kissed him again. Soft lips pressed gently together, almost reverently touching. "You care about me too," asked Q, "don't you, James?"

James looked like a little boy lost. If he was honest -- really honest -- he had to admit... He nodded at Q silently.

"And you really do want this to be... something, don't you?" asked Q. Again Bond nodded, his lip quivering slightly.

"Do you... Do you... love me, James?" asked Q softly. This was the question he most feared. "Please be honest," he added.

Bond looked pitifully helpless as he nodded for the third time. Q closed his eyes, relieved.

"Don't worry," said Q, "I won't tell M his best field agent has secretly gone soft for his quartermaster." Q opened his eyes and cocked a grin at Bond.

For his part, James gave him a dirty look. "Bastard," said Bond.

Q grinned wide and laughed. "Do me a favor, James," he said, "Show me some of that James Bond brand compassion again?" Q placed his mouth over James' and tasted his lover, letting the perception of warm wine and subtle sweetness envelop his senses.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my dedicated readers:
> 
> THANK YOU so much for following along! I know it's been agonizing for some of you, but we're done now! Thanks for your patience and avid enthusiasm. It really means a lot!
> 
> Please don't hesitate to follow my blog on Tumblr if you like my writing as I do give updates and post pics, gifsets, etc relating to my OTP Johnlock and my other fic pairings -- rehfan.tumblr.com
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> Thank you again! Until next time!


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